


Post Meridiem Synthesis

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-15
Updated: 2001-02-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11340951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: See story parts for details.





	Post Meridiem Synthesis

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Post Meridiem Synthesis I by rac

Post Meridiem Synthesis  
I. Driving Anger  
by rac / August 2000

Rating for PMS-I: PG  
Spoilers: Over the course of the entire series, there'll be bits and pieces from most of season six. This particular piece takes place after "Drive".  
Archiving: Yes, with all headers intact, thanks. Sooner or later located at my own site: http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm.  
Summary/Notes: I may be the lone person who rather enjoyed season six :-) I've wanted to write something for a while that unites the season in a singular way (at least in my twisted imagination), so while I struggle with another series, here it is. There's more following this one. :-) Long live the choke hold! Thanks to cdavis, Xanthe and JiM, for commenting and making suggestions. All remaining faux pas are all mine.  
Feedback to: por favor, gracias!

* * *

OoOoO

Post Meridiem Synthesis  
I: Driving Anger

Skinner pushed the elevator button, thankful his chore was done for the evening. His eyes burned after crunching numbers, sorting through various accounts and composing a tap-dancing narrative for his division's quarterly accounting report. His watch revealed the time as being well after midnight; the cleaning crew had long been gone from this floor. Skinner hadn't seen or heard another soul for hours. All he wanted was a hot shower and his bed as quickly as possible before he had to get up and start the day all over again.

A hollow metal crash echoed like an explosion through the deserted section of building, and his startled heart thudded an accelerated beat. Probably nothing, he reasoned, yet the unknown sound drew him away from the waiting elevator and back down the deserted hall.

Another noise echoed, a dull, pounding, rhythmic clang. Skinner stopped and listened; it came from the Security bullpen. His white shirt gleamed brightly in the low night lighting, as he moved down the hallway toward the office, thumbing the snap and slipping his SIG smoothly from his waist holster, then easing off the safety.

The room beyond the doorway was dim, lit only by the blue glow of computer monitors. The FBI's main work page flickered intermittently where computers had been left on. Skinner peered cautiously around the edge of the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the ambient lighting, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. Then a shadow detached itself from deeper shadows in the back by the filing cabinets, and Skinner firmed his grip on the SIG.

"Put your hands up where I can see them, then take a few steps forward."

Two hands waved ghostly in the dark, and a form stepped forward into a computer screen's glare.

"Stop right there."

Recognition relaxed his grip at the same time a well-known voice broke the silence.

"Go ahead, do me a favor. Put me out of my misery."

Skinner silently lowered the gun and re-holstered it, breathing deeply as a renegade spurt of adrenaline rolled through his system.

At Skinner's action, more sarcastic words rang out. "I'm disappointed. At least it would have been a more humane treatment than I get these days from Kersh."

Skinner walked slowly into the room, eyeing the figure standing at the back. He looked much like Skinner himself, shirtsleeves rolled up and tie loosened.

"Agent Mulder. What are you doing here this late?"

Mulder gave one more vicious jab at the nearest metal desk with his foot. The hollow thud made Skinner wince in empathy at what most surely hurt like hell.

"Being a good little agent and working on background checks, what else?" Disgust and something more dripped from Mulder's voice.

"Doing a good job of attempting to destroy government property is what it looks like." Skinner moved a little closer and perched a hip on the edge of a desk, keeping his voice calm. He never took his eyes from the bundle of nerves now pacing back and forth in front of the file cabinets.

"I figure if I killed the cold-hearted bastard, Scully would have my head on a platter and serve it up to the Federal prosecutor herself, so...a little redecorating has to serve instead." He gave another half-hearted swipe at the filing cabinet as he passed, and this time Skinner saw Mulder wince in pain as his foot connected.

"I'd suggest a couple of rounds in the ring instead, but it's too late. The gym's not open."

"Yeah, just my luck." For the first time, Skinner noted how Mulder's hands clenched and unclenched into fists, emphasizing the restless energy coursing aimlessly through him. "Isn't that how it always goes? Always a little too late."

The missing puzzle pieces clicked into place. Through his assistant, Skinner had heard the detailed accounting of Mulder's hell-bent race across the desert to save a doomed man. "No, Agent Mulder, that's not how it always goes. That's not how it went when you were working in my division, in the X-Files. You had one of the highest solve ratios in the Bureau."

"Yeah, and I fucked it up. Fucked everything up. Lost the Files to that smoking bastard. Served them up right into his hands, exactly the way they wanted." A hitch echoed in Mulder's angry tone. "Kersh told me if I don't like it, I can always quit. Bastard." Mulder kicked the cabinet as emphasis. He added in a soft murmur, "He smiled at me as he said it. Maybe I should," he added, soto voce.

Skinner could easily imagine smug humor on Kersh's face as he delivered that line, a particularly vicious and nasty jab at Mulder's meager defenses.

He had never liked Kersh, the two-faced sonofabitch. Even as a young agent, the man had always done what was best--for him--and done it in such a way that it looked selfless. Like a wily animal, he'd always been good at manipulating the weaker and less assured, and knowing how to slyly avoid direct confrontations with others who were strong. In all their years in the Bureau, they'd never come face to face over something.

Skinner looked blindly at his hands. Kersh's luck had to run out sooner or later, and he wanted to be there when it did.

Now, though, there was a personnel mess to clean up, one left by his self-motivated colleague. It should never have happened. Mulder shouldn't be reporting to Kersh's division.

He straightened up, reached out and took a firm hold of Mulder's shoulder, turning him around. "The gym's closed, but other places are open that will serve just as well. Where's your coat?"

Mulder's eyes flicked over to his desk where his suit coat hung carelessly on his chair.

"Let's go, Mulder."

Mulder resisted Skinner's urging hand, pulling away. "What the hell difference does it make now? I've effectively buried myself beneath so many red marks, I'll never dig my way back out. I might as well quit for all the damn good I can do here."

Skinner hoped he'd meet Kersh alone in the gym some night. He crowded in Mulder's space, getting right into his face. "Agent Mulder, if you do that, they've won. Not only everything you've done would have been in vain, everything anyone else has ever done to help you would all be for nothing. Scully, all the sacrifices and things she's been through. All the times I've stuck my neck out. All the risks your friends and informants took over the years. And I know for a fact that more than a few paid a heavy price for their actions."

Mulder's face paled and his jaw line tightened from that hit, and Skinner pushed his point harder. "Are you going to walk away from that? Walk away from the playing field because you're down 21 points?"

"They own the officials and sidelined the whole damn team with fouls. Can't fucking score if there's no one on the playing field," Mulder said bitterly, and turned to move away.

Skinner stopped him with a powerful hand on his arm, fingers biting in enough to leave prints. "Time may be ticking, but the game's not over yet, Mulder. If what you've always said is true, then I'd think you'd want to keep at it until the very last."

Eyes blazing, Mulder jerked his arm out of Skinner's grasp. "What the fuck do you care? Last time I looked, you'd chosen to wear that official's uniform--"

Skinner moved fast, pulling Mulder off-balance and twisting until his arm lay across the back of Mulder's neck. His fingers gripped shorn hair as he plastered Mulder's face flat against the wall next to the file cabinets. A powerful grip held Mulder's arms behind his back, making his struggles useless.

Skinner's words blasted hot and angry against the side of Mulder's head as he growled in Mulder's ear. "I'll ignore that, Mulder, because I know it's nothing but anger and frustration talking. But after you cool down, I hope you think back and remember who your friends are. Remember who's been there, and what was risked and what was lost."

Mulder jerked once more in Skinner's hold, and Skinner released him suddenly. They stood glaring at each other for long seconds, the pale, bluish monitor light glittering in their eyes like starlight.

Mulder ran his hands through his hair in a choppy motion and breathed deeply, breaking the tension that held them in thrall. "Fuck. Sir, I..."

Without waiting to hear Mulder finish, Skinner turned and walked out of the bullpen as wordlessly as he had arrived. One echoing, metallic clang followed him down the hall as he strode toward the elevator.

OoOoO

 

* * *

 

Post Meridiem Synthesis  
II. Oblique Triangulation  
by rac / August 2000

Rating for PMS-II: PG  
Spoilers: Over the course of the entire series, there'll be bits and pieces from most of season six. This particular piece takes place after "Triangle".  
**And yes, I use a particular "take" on the events in that episode--purely for purposes of the story. I don't necessarily subscribe to this viewpoint (i.e., so don't argue with me about it!) but merely adopted it for literary reasons. If one can call this literature. Heh.  
Archiving: Yes, with all headers intact, thanks. Sooner or later located at my own site: http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm.  
Summary/Notes: I may be the lone person who rather enjoyed season six :-) I've wanted to write something for a while that unites the season in a singular way (at least in my twisted imagination), so while I struggle with another series, here it is. There's more following this one. :-) Long live the choke hold! Thanks to cdavis, Xanthe and JiM, for commenting and making suggestions. All remaining faux pas are all mine.  
Feedback to: por favor, gracias!

* * *

OoOoO

Post Meridiem Synthesis  
II. Oblique Triangulation

"Agent Mulder."

Mulder swung around, his hand still outstretched toward his car.

"It's good to see you back at work." Skinner's coat hung open and a briefcase dangled from his hand as he stopped by Mulder's car.

The anti-theft device beeped as Mulder punched the button, and he dropped his arm. An ironic edge underscored his words. "I can *almost* say I'm glad to be back after tangling with the Bermuda Triangle."

Skinner looked down at the cement floor and visibly smothered a smile before glancing back up again. "Are you saying it got the best of you, Mulder?"

Mulder hesitated. "Do you speak German, sir?" he asked out of the blue.

Skinner gave him a blank look at the non sequitur. "Yes, fluently. Why?"

Mulder nodded, biting his lip absently. "Guess my trip wasn't a complete waste of time after all."

"Mulder..." Skinner growled.

Mulder gave Skinner a blinding smile. "And thanks for the flowers."

"What flowers? What are you talking about, Mulder?" Skinner's eyebrows hung down over an annoyed glare.

"You didn't bring flowers and visit me at the...hospital..." Mulder trailed off uncertainly at the look of incredulity on Skinner's face. "Uh...sorry, guess I'm still a little confused." The clear image of Skinner standing alongside the Long Gunmen in his hospital room had Mulder blinking in utter bafflement.

Skinner eyed him gravely. "Maybe you should have taken some more time before coming back, Mulder."

"Yeah," Mulder said, flushing lightly. "I wouldn't have minded missing out on Kersh's interrogation today."

"I don't think you could have," Skinner offered dryly. "How did you explain your trip?"

"Uh...vacation?" came Mulder's tentative answer.

Skinner shook his head, bemused. "Never mind, Mulder, it's better that I don't know."

Mulder nodded in definite agreement.

"So Kersh didn't suspend you."

"Not this time. But hey, cheer up. There's always tomorrow," Mulder said, a cutting edge back in his words.

Skinner considered, watching Mulder through hooded eyes. He flicked a brief glance back toward the elevator, then shifted his briefcase to his other hand. "The 14th Street Gym is still open."

They stood and stared at one another in silence.

Mulder's teeth played with the inside edge of his lip again, his eyes darkening. "Okay," he said simply a moment later.

Without another word, Skinner turned toward his car, his own alarm system beeping a release.

Mulder stood watching for a moment, then opened the door and slid into his own car. He pulled out a second after Skinner and ended up trailing him over to XX Street and down to 14th. The two bureau Fords pulled into the tiny, litter-strewn lot.

A cold wind blew a few pieces of paper against the gym's brick wall as Mulder rummaged in his trunk for his jogging bag, then hurried after Skinner.

The monitor behind the front desk, an older man with deep wrinkles scoring his dark chocolate skin. White peppered his dark, curly hair. He looked up as they shut the door and nodded genially at Skinner.

"Evenin'. Getting' awful cold out there."

Skinner nodded. "It is." He motioned with his chin toward Mulder. "He's with me tonight."

The man eyed Mulder with the thoroughness of a wizened detective, belying his sleepy demeanor. "Got yoursef' a sparrin' partner tonight, huh, Slugger? Git on, don't worry 'bout the fee." He grinned, showing off a shiny gold tooth. "Jus' put on a good show fer me. Been boring here tonight."

Mulder caught Skinner's eyes as they threaded back toward the locker room. "What are we going to be, tonight's featured item?"

Skinner glanced sideways. "What's the matter, Mulder, that worry you?"

Mulder opened his mouth, then thought the better of it, adopting an artless expression. "Me? No, that's just peachy."

The locker room they entered was a paean to men's locker rooms everywhere. The smell of sweaty socks and musty clothes permeated its very walls.

"I just want to make sure I can walk out of here on both feet, *Slugger*."

Skinner unlocked the old-fashioned combination lock hanging on his private locker. "Just picture Kersh, Mulder. Imagine you're in his office. That should help."

Mulder only grunted as he began stripping out of his suit. Skinner retrieved an extra jock cup from his locker.

"Oh yeah," Mulder drawled, turning it over in his hand. "Gotta protect 'em for Kersh, after all...now they're his to snip off and grind into the dirt."

"You mean you had some left after transferring?" Skinner deadpanned.

Mulder couldn't contain a bark of laughter. "Despite your best efforts, yeah. You know, it's a pastime with the older agents, watching the new ones after they exit your office. So many different shades of green that skin can display."

Skinner's nose flared out as he sat to tie his shoes. "Intimidation separates the men from the boys."

"Scully'd whittle you down to nothing if she heard that," Mulder said.

"And separates the women from the boys, too," Skinner said dryly.

They made short shrift of changing. Out in the open gym, a surprising number of men still were there, as late as it was.

Skinner stood with his hands on hips, his gaze on Mulder.

"You look like a well-placed right hook would send you back to the hospital."

Mulder grimaced. "Gee, thanks. Just what every self-respecting Special Agent man wants to hear."

Skinner ignored him. "Instead of the gloves, how about we take it to the mat?"

"Wrestling?" Mulder's voice echoed his surprise.

"I think we'd be more evenly matched."

Mulder's eyes strayed to the ring. "Okay. Whatever."

Skinner stepped over to talk with a tall, muscular young man who wore his long hair tied back tightly in a tail, then waved Mulder over to a large corner area. The floor was lined with heavy, gray matting.

Mulder paused at the edge of the mats. "I know I'm going to regret not going home and running tonight."

Skinner let his humor peak through; the smile barely brushed across his mouth, but his eyes gleamed. "It's good to work off this frustration you're building up, Mulder. You don't want to let Kersh get the best of you."

"Yeah. So I'm going to let you wrestle it from me, instead. Smart," Mulder nodded with self-deprecating humor.

"I'm Mike," the tall muscleman stepped onto the mat and shook Mulder's hand as he introduced himself. "Okay, let's lay down the game."

They went through the standard rules, and Mike set a point spread of ten up for Skinner to win, or a win if Mulder reached ten total. If they were both still standing after fifteen minutes, whoever was closest to their goal, won.

Mulder won the toss and started on top, but shook his head.

"I don't think winning the toss is going to help me," he said to Skinner as they got into position in the middle of the mat. Skinner's belly felt like a brick against his hand.

"There's that defeatist attitude again, Mulder. You really need to do something about that," Skinner replied.

Mike blew the whistle.

oOo

Mulder wiped away a rivulet of sweat running down the side of his head. "You need one more point to win, and you're gonna have to work for it. I'm not conceding."

"Fine," Skinner said mildly.

"You may have nine points on me, but I've got five, five points, dammit. It's not over."

"Did I say it was?"

The air of satisfaction Mulder imagined in Skinner's attitude tweaked his last nerve. "Okay, let's do it."

He got his ass whipped at work, and now he was offering it up again as sacrifice on his own time. What the fuck was wrong with this picture? Mulder shimmied into position on his hands and knees, too angry and disgusted to think about being in the vulnerable starting position. Skinner was all brawn and had a good 20 or 25 pounds on him, mostly muscle. Mulder's only defense at this point was speed.

Skinner grappled for a flip, but Mulder was determined. He slid out from Skinner's grasp like a greased pig, bouncing up to his feet in a graceful move.

"It's not gonna be that easy. Told you, you gotta work for it." Mulder wiped slippery hands on his shorts.

"So you did." Nodding, Skinner stood up and they circled around, slapping and grabbing to find a good hold.

It was over before either of them realized it.

"Score!" Mike yelled. "Five points. That's the match." He slapped Mulder on the back. "*Hell* of a high altitude throw, Mulder. You okay?" Mike peered down at Skinner where he lay on the mat.

Mulder stared down at his ex-boss with a faint smile on his face. "That's for all those choke holds over the years."

Skinner got up smoothly, rubbing his elbow where he'd whacked it against the mat going down. "You been taking hand-to-hand with Grimes in the gym?"

Mulder shook his head. "No, I just pictured Kersh, like you said. It worked."

Skinner nodded. "Damn if it didn't."

oOo

Afterward, Skinner dragged him to a local bar. Sitting at a side table, Mulder noticed they were much better dressed than the other tavern patrons late on this weekday night, but nobody paid any attention to them. They downed their drinks in short order with little conversation and clinked the empties onto the table nearly simultaneously.

"Thanks, sir. This evening was..." Mulder thought and smiled. "Rejuvenating."

"Speak for yourself, Mulder." Skinner winced. "I'm going home and turn on the whirlpool jets."

Mulder thought of Hegel Place with a sigh. "I doubt I'll be enjoying that perk when I get home." He'd be lucky if he could soak in hot water in a clean tub. "I'll have to make do with remembering the thrill of victory. It offsets the agony of defeat elsewhere," he half-joked.

They stood up and settled their long coats over their shoulders against the bitter wind outside.

"Look for me next time things get a little too much with Kersh," Skinner suggested.

Mulder pushed out the door onto the street. Street lights streamed overlapping pools of light up and down the block. The wind breathed in icy gusts, and Mulder jammed his hands inside his woolen coat. "Yeah, well. That could get monotonous."

Skinner buttoned the last button and pulled on heavy black leather gloves as they walked to the parking lot. His breath crystallized like frosty steam in the near-freezing air as he released the door lock and opened his car door.

"No, I don't think so, Mulder," Skinner murmured, then slid into his Crown Victoria.

Mulder watched the Crown Vic's taillights accelerate down the street before he closed the door of his Taurus against the bitter wind.

OoOoO

a la Monsieur Stephan King, part III coming soon :-)

\-- --  
rac <>

"He is quite sweet, don't you think?"  
"I don't know...*I* haven't licked him."

The NetCafe, a multi-writer place  
http://enook.net  
The Keyhole, rac's scribbles  
http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm  
Requited, a Skinner/Mulder Fantasy World  
http://enook.net/requited.htm

 

* * *

 

Post Meridiem Synthesis  
III. Deathless Resolutions

by rac / August 2000

Rating for PMS-III: PG  
Spoilers: Over the course of the entire series, there'll be bits and pieces from most of season six. This particular piece takes place after "SR 819" and "Tithonus".  
Archiving: Yes, with all headers intact, thanks. Sooner or later located at my own site: http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm.  
Summary/Notes: I may be the lone person who rather enjoyed season six :-) I've wanted to write something for a while that unites the season in a singular way (at least in my twisted imagination), so while I struggle with another series, here it is. There's more following this one. :-) Long live the choke hold! Thanks to cdavis, Xanthe and JiM, for commenting and making suggestions. All remaining faux pas are all mine.  
Feedback to: por favor, gracias!

* * *

OoOoOoO

Post Meridiem Synthesis  
III. Deathless Resolutions

"Fancy meeting you here like this."

Skinner's hand fell away from his face, and he looked up at the door. He looked back down at the papers on his desk before he spoke.

"It's late, Mulder. What are you still doing here?"

Mulder ambled into Skinner's office. The golden light from Skinner's desk lamp barely held at bay the shadows haunting the room's dark corners. Without asking, Mulder eased down in the leather chair across from Skinner.

"Oh, you know, rattling around."

Skinner's left fist pressed against his chin, his thumb pressed against the corner of his mouth. The light reflected off his glasses, making them opaque and masking his eyes. The ticking of Skinner's desk clock sounded loud in the silence.

"How's Scully doing?" Skinner asked.

For a brief second, Mulder's face looked like it might crumple in on itself. Then he shifted, his hand jiggling in a restless pattern against his knee.

"Okay. She's okay. She's flying in tomorrow. She wouldn't let me drive her down from New York." Mulder scooted down lower in the chair. "Her mother is flying down with her. I'll pick them up from the noon shuttle."

Skinner's chair squeaked as he leaned back. "Ritter will have to give an accounting of his actions. There's an OPR investigation into the shooting."

"Kersh never should have assigned her to that case without me," Mulder said with obvious bitterness. "He nearly got her killed, dammit."

"Assistant Director Kersh will participate in that investigation also, Mulder. If there were any wrong-doing, it will come out."

Mulder just stared at him. "After all this time, after everything, you can sit there and say that?"

Skinner unexpectedly shot out of his chair with jerky movements. Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, he strode to the broad array of windows behind him that overlooked the lights up and down Pennsylvania Avenue. "Yes, Agent Mulder. Not everything is a part of your grand conspiracy." A spasm quivered through his jaw.

Jumping up also, Mulder pushed past the incipient signs of Skinner's fraying patience with his own rush of anger. "How the hell do I know that? Nearly everything so far has been related to it in one way or another. Why not this? Divide and conquer, the oldest technique in the book. Only this time, it went a little further, divide and eliminate. Get rid of half the problem, and cripple the other half. It's not like they haven't done it before." Mulder pushed right into the dark corner by the window, crowding Skinner's space with flashing eyes and anger. "How can you stand there and deny it? Just a month ago, it was you, *you* they were manipulating to the point of death--"

Skinner turned away from Mulder and walked back over to his desk. "That's enough, Agent Mulder. Go home." He sounded strained and tired.

Mulder ignored him. "Go home? Just forget about it? How can I forget it? They killed both you and Scully! Only some freak of luck has Scully coming home tomorrow, and us standing here talking right now." Mulder reached out and grabbed Skinner's shoulder. "Am I supposed to believe they won't stop, won't keep coming back until they get what they want?"

"Dammit, Mulder--" Skinner twisted around in Mulder's grip. His brown eyes looked nearly black, filled with rage and something else: fear.

Mulder's hand flattened against Skinner's shoulder, dark against the pristine white of his shirt. "They did," he breathed. "They did come back." Mulder's hand fisted in the white oxford cloth, wrinkling it between his fingers. "You know who did that to you, don't you. That's why you denied our request to investigate further. You're doing their goddamned dirty work, covering it up."

Skinner pried Mulder's hand from his shirt. His voice hardened to steel. "Drop it, Mulder. You're straying into territory that is outside of your official purview."

Mulder took a step and followed, beyond being able to stop. "Fuck that! Did they tell you they'll try again? Is that how they--"

"I said that's enough!"

Skinner grabbed Mulder's shoulders and pushed him up against the desk hard enough to bow him backwards. A file folder skittered off the edge, papers fluttering down to the floor. Skinner shook him to emphasize the words he spoke with less heat. "Enough, Mulder."

Mulder gazed up at Skinner with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to protest again, but Skinner forestalled him.

"No. No more questions."

*Please.*

The unspoken plea hung between them in the silence. Mulder heard it; he saw pain behind the anger in Skinner's eyes.

He did crumple then, his righteous anger leaving him in a sudden rush. Without the anger to give him form, grief and fear rushed in to fill the void. "I can't..." Mulder shook his head, overwhelmed.

Skinner stood back, pulling Mulder up straight. He took a deep breath, looking down, looking anywhere but directly at the man in front of him. "Mulder. I'm sorry. Truly sorry."

With distant eyes, Mulder pursed his lip and nodded faintly.

"I honestly don't think there was any hidden agenda behind Scully's accident. Ritter fucked up, pure and simple." Skinner laid a hand on the top of Mulder's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Put your mind at ease about that."

Mulder nodded again absently. His eyes slid up to capture Skinner's. "How can I put my mind at ease about you?"

A small hiss of surprised breath came from Skinner's mouth at the question.

"I felt helpless a month ago," Mulder continued, looking down at the white expanse of Skinner's chest as he placed his palm flat against it. Skinner's heart thudded steady and sure, his body heat radiating through the thin silk of his tie. "Watching you die. I don't want to do that again. It..." He shook his head. "I don't think I'd take it too well, you know?"

He raised his eyes when Skinner remained silent. "You know what I mean?"

The anger darkening Skinner's expression was now gone. Shock had taken its place, staying his tongue and freezing his muscles.

"Yeah, well...I guess you do."

Mulder moved quickly, getting halfway to the door before Skinner could say something.

"Mulder..."

Mulder stopped with one hand on the door knob, looking back at Skinner. "Remember what you told me, about who your friends are."

The door closed behind him with a small snick.

Skinner stood without moving for a few minutes, then jerked as if coming out of a trance. He ripped his glasses off and flung them down on his desk. Blindly, he reached over and stabbed the button on his desk lamp, plunging most of the room into the comfort of heavy shadows. Only the light by the sofa remained on, and he turned that off, also.

The lights of the city filtered through the blinds, leaving the room in gray and black stripes. Leather and springs groaned as Skinner sat heavily on the sofa, letting his head fall back against the cool upholstery. He didn't bother lying down; any thought of sleeping fled in the face of Mulder's startling, if oblique, disclosure.

The hours of darkness stretched out endlessly before him.

OoOoO

tra la, tra la, part IV coming soon before I leave on a short trip :-)

Correction to Part III: There is no XX Street in D.C. (no duh) It should have read: E Street.

 

* * *

 

Post Meridiem Synthesis  
IV. From Malo to Bueno

by rac / August 2000

Rating for PMS-IV: PG  
Spoilers: Over the course of the entire series, there'll be bits and pieces from most of season six. This particular piece takes place after "Agua Mala".  
Archiving: Yes, with all headers intact, thanks. Sooner or later located at my own site: http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm.  
Summary/Notes: I may be the lone person who rather enjoyed season six :-) I've wanted to write something for a while that unites the season in a singular way (at least in my twisted imagination), so while I struggle with another series, here it is. There's more following this one. :-) Long live the choke hold! Thanks to cdavis, Xanthe and JiM, for commenting and making suggestions. All remaining faux pas are all mine.  
Feedback to: por favor, gracias!

* * *

OoOoO

Post Meridiem Synthesis  
Part IV. From Malo to Bueno

Skinner could hear the television's murmur out in the hall, mingling with other sounds from behind the other featureless doors situated monotonously down the long, bland corridor. The gold number before him glittered in the harsh hallway light, and he contemplated it. The irony of the number presented wasn't lost on him; on the contrary. He closed his eyes and marshaled himself with a deep breath, and for a moment, his face reflected his inner uncertainty.

Mulder opened the door with a surprised expression. "Hi." He paused as they stared at one another. "This is...it's late. Is everything okay?"

Skinner eyed Mulder's drained and exhausted features, then took in the wrapping around his neck. Biting back the harsh words that came immediately, he restrained himself to a frown and a growl. "Are you well enough to be up?"

Mulder turned away with an unreadable expression and walked back to the living room. "Yes, Dad. Mom gave me a clean bill of health, other than my neck. I don't know why she went and told."

Skinner stood unmoving at the door for a moment, then he strode in silently, shutting the door behind him.

Mulder sat on the couch, a remote control dangling loosely from his hand as he avoided Skinner's gaze.

"That was unwarranted," Skinner said evenly.

Mulder scrubbed a long-fingered hand over his face and through his hair, leaving it standing on end. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I didn't get much sleep last night."

"You don't look poised to get much tonight, either."

"Yeah." Mulder aimed the remote and shut off the television. He put a hand over the gauze above the neck of his tee-shirt. "This is...uncomfortable when there's pressure on it. Makes lying down a real pain." At Skinner's frown, Mulder shrugged. "Have no fear. I'll be back at work tomorrow. Scully shouldn't have bothered you."

Skinner walked to the chair opposite the couch and sat down. Mulder avoided his eyes, watching instead the way his hands curled around the edges of both arms, gripping lightly. The unbidden memory of how strong they felt against his own flesh intruded without warning, and he hopped up.

"Can I get you a drink? Some coffee?" Without waiting for an answer, Mulder left for the kitchen to fiddle with the brewer. He grimaced at the scum on the bottom of the carafe and began scrubbing it.

"Agent Scully didn't tell me. I haven't talked to her since the last time the three of us met in my office."

The sponge fell motionless as Mulder looked up.

Skinner leaned with nonchalant grace against the doorjamb, one hand on his hip. "I saw you listed on the injury report." Wry humor lightened his expression. "It's one way I have of keeping track of--things."

Mulder smiled and looked back down at the glass pot in his hands. "I guess so, never thought about it." He started scrubbing again. "Of course, that investigative option won't tell you about all the times I never made it into a medical facility. It's handy having a doctor for a partner."

"A sea monster, Mulder?" Skinner conveyed all his skepticism in four words.

Mulder rinsed out the pot and filled it with fresh water. "Well, golly gee, those injury reports sure do gather a lot of information."

Skinner just raised his brows.

Mulder sighed and put the carafe aside. "Yes, a sea monster." Taking a step forward, he gingerly pulled an edge of gauze away from his neck. "A blood-sucking, murderous sea monster."

Skinner moved forward, his widened eyes on Mulder's revealed neck. He winced, glancing up at Mulder. "You're okay now? Did this...creature...is there any possibility of long-term effects?"

"Other than looking like a horror movie extra for a couple weeks?" Mulder shrugged. "Guess we'll have to wait and see. But Scully doesn't think so, and she should know." Mulder rubbed his arm and made a face. "She took enough blood to test for everything known to man and beyond."

Skinner shook his head. "You're not even officially back with the X-Files yet. Kersh and I have yet to meet with the Director, the Deputy Director and the other A.D.'s."

"I think this looks good...here we are, back on the job with a 100% solve rate and we're not even assigned to the unit yet."

Skinner sighed. "Don't push your luck, Mulder. You're still walking a very thin, shaky line with the other board members. The only reason Kersh is convinced is because..."

Mulder nodded, "Yeah. Those pictures really shook him up, then finding Spender's body only an hour after he left Kersh's office. Guess things started touching in a wee bit too close for comfort."

"Make no mistake, Mulder, you fuck up, and he'll renounce you so fast, you won't know what happened."

"I know." Mulder slumped a little, a bleak look in his eye.

"Come on." Skinner steered Mulder out of the kitchen without a protest. "Neither of us needs coffee this time of night."

"Admit it, you saw the state of the coffee pot and shudder to think what the coffee's going to taste like."

"There is that." Frowning faintly, Skinner pointed to the door opposite the kitchen. "Bedroom?"

Mulder bit his lip at the sudden leap of his pulse at that question. "Believe it or not, yes, despite rumors I don't have one. Hey, I even have a water bed."

Mulder lead the way to the door and flipped on the light. Skinner stood in the doorway observing with surprise the lovely bedroom furniture. A modern four-poster bed stood square in the middle.

Skinner's face was perfectly blank. "A water bed."

"Yeah. It's...nice."

At the odd note in Mulder's voice, Skinner turned and saw the strangest expression on his face.

"I'm not sure when I got it, but it *is* nice." Mulder nodded, still staring with bemusement at the bed.

"Not sure--" Skinner broke off and shook his head. "Go to bed, Mulder, get some sleep. You look like death warmed over."

"Uh, thanks." Mulder's mouth flattened.

Skinner turned around and headed back to the front door. He paused, staring at his hand on the knob. "Mulder, I...I'm glad you're okay." He turned his head and looked down the hall at the lanky figure standing in the bedroom door. "That...concern you mentioned, it works both ways. Understand?" With a twist of his chin and a dark stab of his eyes, Skinner pulled open the door and disappeared.

Mulder stood there, sightlessly staring at the front door until the lights began to hurt his eyes. Making short work of the lights and locks, Mulder peeled out of his jeans and slid carefully into bed in his shorts and tee. The water undulated beneath him, lulling to sleep despite the ache in his neck.

Beneath Mulder's cheek, the pillow dampened as his mouth opened; for a change, he smiled in his dreams.

OoOoO

chick-a-boom...leaving on a short trip out of town...part V to post when I return :-) Thanks to all those who have been writing. Your enthusiasm has uplifted me! And it's nice to know there's others who really enjoyed season six, also.

 

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Post Meridiem Synthesis  
V. Rainy Days and...

by rac / August 2000

Rating for PMS-V: NC-17. Uh-huh.  
Spoilers: Over the course of the entire series, there'll be bits and pieces from most of season six. This particular piece takes place after "Monday".  
Archiving: Yes, with all headers intact, thanks. Sooner or later located at my own site: http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm.  
Summary/Notes: I may be the lone person who rather enjoyed season six :-) I've wanted to write something for a while that unites the season in a singular way (at least in my twisted imagination), so while I struggle with another series, here it is. There's more following this one. :-) Long live the choke hold! Thanks to devo, cdavis, Xanthe and JiM, for commenting and making suggestions. All remaining faux pas are all mine.  
Since this part was much longer, hope it'll hold for the next few days as school season winds back into gear; appts. abound; and life explodes into a typical fall burst of busyness. :-)  
Feedback to: por favor, gracias!

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OoOoO

Post Meridiem Synthesis  
V. Rainy Days and...

"I still don't understand why they had to delay our reinstatement to the X-Files until a week from now." Mulder's annoyed words carried down the hallway with ringing tones.

Scully's legs picked up speed as she snared Mulder's arm. "Mulder, just start walking. The doors to the Director's conference room are open behind us."

"Yeah, but Scully, if it's a done deal, why didn't they make reinstatement active immediately?"

"Because, Agent Mulder, it *isn't* a done deal, as you so eloquently put it," Skinner growled behind Mulder.

Mulder swiveled his head around, surprised. "Sir."

"Keep talking like that, and you'll find out why some board members insisted on the delay. Never again consider it a 'done deal', Mulder. This decision can be reversed at any moment." He walked with them down the corridor, away from alert ears. "I'm sure it's not a stretch for you to realize that the burnings, then Spender's murder on their own turf shook them up enough to consider allowing you anywhere near the X-Files again."

Mulder still argued, but in a much less strident voice. "It *should* have shaken them up."

The three paused at a hallway junction.

Skinner glanced around, then at Scully and back at Mulder. "And they consider you the perfect person to throw out in front of the oncoming enemy."

Mulder blinked at Skinner, the wind taken out of his sails momentarily.

"Expendable, I believe that was one board member's words." Skinner sighed. "Just go to my office and wait for me. I'll be down in a moment." He turned back to the Director's office.

Scully exchanged a glance with Mulder. He followed her without comment down to the 4th floor.

Kim looked up as they entered. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully. Congratulations."

Scully raised her brows. "For?"

"For getting the X-Files back."

Mulder gave her a charming smile. "No wonder Skinner's always so well informed about the latest scuttlebutt."

Kim smiled briefly and tilted her head toward her boss's inner office. "You should know Assistant Director Skinner worked hard for this. There were more than a few... disagreements with the other A.D.'s. And some other people."

Scully noticed Mulder was frowning and lost in thought. "I'm sure that wasn't very pleasant for the Assistant Director."

Kim shook her head. "No," she said shortly, revealing nothing else.

"Thanks, Kim," Mulder said absently, trailing after Scully into Skinner's office.

Scully sat down in her usual chair and crossed her legs, frowning at her partner. "When Assistant Director Skinner nearly...when he was in the hospital," she said, "he told me he regretted not doing more for us. That he could have done more, been more of an ally."

Mulder slouched down in his chair and didn't say anything; it was a bitter thought he'd had a time or two himself over the past few years.

"Maybe he really was sincere in that sentiment, Mulder. He seems to have gone to the mat for you on this battle."

Mulder gave her an odd, humorous look. "You think so?"

Scully frowned at him. "Well, yes, I do--" Scully broke off at the sound of Skinner's voice raised in the anteroom.

"I don't care how urgent Mr. Krysa said it was, he can damn well wait."

Skinner came striding into his office, a heavy scowl darkening his face. He wrenched off his suit coat with less than his usual graceful motions, and deposited it over the back of his chair before sitting down.

Mulder and Scully looked at each other with mild shock.

"Sir...is anything wrong?" Scully asked hesitantly.

Skinner looked up to find both agents staring at him. In a familiar gesture of weariness, he nudged aside his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath. "Yes. I was just unconscionably rude." He straightened his glasses, then stood. "Excuse me."

His back rigid, he walked out the door. They could hear murmuring from the other room, both deep and light, then Kim's phone rang. A second later, Skinner walked back in the room and shut the door.

He sat down, glancing over the papers on his desk, then up at the two agents. "We need to discuss the board's stipulations."

"Pardon me, sir," Scully interrupted, "but it's late on a very long day. If you'd like, we can come back tomorrow, get a fresh start," she offered, watching Skinner with grave eyes. "I'm sure Agent Mulder and I can be invisible--and non-offensive," she flashed her eyes at Mulder, "until we go over the board's complete ruling."

Skinner glanced first at Mulder, then Scully, unconsciously twisting his neck as if his collar was too tight. His eyes slid back to his desk as he rubbed at his temple. "That's an excellent idea, Agent Scully. Why don't we meet back here at..." he checked a printed agenda on his desk, "nine-thirty tomorrow morning." He grimaced. "After my eight o'clock meeting, which will not let go past the hour I've alloted for it."

Scully nodded. "That would be just fine, sir. And if I may suggest...a good night's rest wouldn't be amiss."

A myriad of expressions flew across Skinner's face, including annoyance and chagrin. He settled on faint humor. "Thank you for your professional advice, Agent Scully. I'll take it under advisement."

Pale pink washed Scully's cheeks at his solemn tone. She stood up to leave. "Mulder?"

Throughout their entire exchange, Mulder hadn't said a word as he watched Skinner with unreadable eyes. Slowly, he stood up, eyes still on Skinner's tense form. "Sir," he waited until he had Skinner's full attention. "Thank you."

Skinner held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, already shuffling through files on his desk. "Don't let me down, Agents," he said, his voice both gruff and weary.

With no other fanfare, they left his office and headed down the hall.

"So, invisible and non-offensive, eh, Scully?" Mulder looked down at his diminutive partner with a faint grin on his face. "Is that possible, do you think?"

Scully stopped near the elevator. "Frankly, Mulder, I have no idea."

"Whoa, Scully--what's wrong?"

Blue eyes flashed up at him. "What's wrong? I don't know, Mulder. I just...I feel like I've been running around after you, trying to save you from disaster for months on end. I'm either covering for you or chasing after you. I'd just like to know that, for a while, you can keep yourself in line and not stick your nose in where it shouldn't be. Is that too much to ask?"

With that parting shot, Scully turned and entered the elevator that just arrived. The doors slid shut as Mulder watched, his eyes wide with shock.

"Get your balls chewed off by the little woman?"

Mulder looked at the bright, malicious expression on the face of an old rival from Quantico. "Fuck off," he said mildly, casually pushing MacNeill out of the way as he strode down the hall.

OoO

His watch beeped ten o'clock as Mulder charmed his way past the doorman downstairs, using a combination of his FBI badge and a few open-ended statements about cases and emergencies. The guard frowned but waved him on readily enough.

A few minutes later, he stood outside Skinner's apartment door, nerves causing him to jingle the keys in his pocket. The door opened, and Skinner stood leaning an arm against it, barring Mulder's entrance.

Skinner stared at him with an unreadable expression. "You shouldn't be here."

 From the depths of his voluminous overcoat, Mulder pulled out a brown bag. "I come bearing gifts." From the bag, he slid out a bottle of very expensive, well-aged scotch.

"Go home, Mulder."

Skinner began closing the door, but Mulder pushed in a leg.

Skinner glared at him. "You have no intelligent sense of self-preservation whatsoever, do you?"

"Apparently not," Mulder replied, raising an eyebrow.

Skinner glared at him some more, then opened the door. "Hurry up," he said, irritated.

Mulder slipped in, shedding his coat. He threw it over the chair in the entrance hall and gave Skinner a guileless grin. "Let's crack the seal." He held up the bottle of Glenfiddich.

Still scowling but without argument, Skinner went to the side bar and pulled out two glasses, placing them on the surface with a small whack.

"What, no ice?" Mulder asked.

"No."

Mulder didn't argue with Skinner's scowl. He handed over the bottle without comment when Skinner stuck out his hand and watched as a good three or more fingers splashed into each glass.

A strange expression ran through Skinner's eyes as he stared at the amber liquid in his glass. "Na zdorovie," he murmured, and clinked it against Mulder's before downing half the glass in one gulp.

Mulder looked closely at Skinner, replying, "Cheers," and knocked back about a quarter of his whisky.

Skinner splashed more whisky in his glass and tilted the bottle toward Mulder as inquiry.

"Uh, no thanks," Mulder shook his head.

Without another word, Skinner walked to the couch and sat down. He propped his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table, a brooding look on his face as he contemplated his drink.

Mulder gestured to Skinner's well-worn gray sweats with the navy FBI logo. "You go to the gym this evening?"

Skinner took a sip and shook his head. "No."

Two could play at this game. Mulder sat down across from Skinner, pushed the Nikes off each foot and propped his own jeans-clad legs on the table. Curiosity curled through him as he wondered how long Skinner could hold up the silence.

Skinner had worked his way through most of a second glass when Mulder lost patience. His own one glass had burned quickly into his bloodstream because he hadn't eaten in over twelve hours. He could feel the alcohol warming him as it ate past any caution he might otherwise have exercised.

"Don't want to talk?" Mulder plopped his glass down on the table. "Okay. You're probably right, it's superfluous." He stood up and in one brief yank, pulled his sweater over his head.

Skinner narrowed his gaze as he took in Mulder's naked torso. "Mulder, what the hell are you doing?"

Mulder's eyes gleamed. "What I came over here to do." He popped the snap on his jeans, pulling the zipper down with a loud *zzzzt*. "What you don't seem to have the guts to do." He hopped out of each leg, kicking the denim aside.

He wore no underwear, and his body reflected his uncertainty despite his whisky-bold words.

Skinner said nothing as he looked with hooded eyes at the naked body standing before him. He made no protest as Mulder grabbed the glass out of his hand and placed it out of the way. Wriggling between his outstretched legs, Mulder knelt on the floor and stared up at Skinner with silent audacity.

Skinner's gray sweats were very soft under Mulder's hands as he slid them up Skinner's legs. The flex and shift of large thigh muscles rippled under his hands. Without warning, Mulder pressed against the apex of Skinner's thighs and smiled at the faint hiss Skinner made.

"Lift up," Mulder demanded, pushing his control of the situation to the max. His head pounded when Skinner, with glittering eyes, did as he ordered and raised up his hips. Swallowing back a violent leap of excitement, Mulder curled his hands into the waistband of the soft fleece pants and pulled downward and off.

Skinner hadn't worn underwear, either.

The sweat pants lay in a heap on the floor, and Mulder contemplated joining them. Skinner didn't seem to be feeling any of Mulder's sense of uncertainty. Eyes wide, Mulder smoothed his hands down the furred length of Skinner's legs, pulling off each sock and adding them to the pile. Skinner remained silent throughout each action.

Reaching for his glasses, Mulder hesitated. "May I?"

Mulder's question seemed to amuse Skinner, and he bit back a curl to his lips as he nodded.

The wire-rims joined the whisky glasses on the table.

Out from behind the shield of glass, Skinner's gaze on Mulder's body suddenly seemed altogether much more heated.

"Put your hands up," Mulder murmured in a voice husky with desire. He had become seduced by his own seduction. In a few quick moves, the sweatshirt joined the rest of the clothes.

"Stand up," Mulder said, his eyes bright with the passion now coursing through him.

As Skinner stood, Mulder moved behind him and pulled the sweatshirt over his head. He tossed it unnoticed towards the clothes pile, too interested in the slope and bend of Skinner's shoulder muscle to pay attention to where it landed. Shivering, Mulder pressed himself against Skinner's back, his body definitely not uncertain anymore, but damned happy about the current state of affairs.

Mulder wrapped his arms around Skinner's solid form and moved against his heat. The warmth of Skinner's neck beckoned and he placed his face against it. Male musk and other scents rose from Skinner's skin. Mulder breathed it in, the finest of perfumes. When Skinner reached back and took hold of Mulder's hips, pulling him in tightly, Mulder bit down instinctively on that fragrant skin, sucking as if he could draw out Skinner's essence.

He awakened a sleeping giant. Before he knew it, Skinner twisted around and pinned him in an embrace, plundering into his mouth with little finesse and

much raw need. When Skinner pulled away, Mulder stood dazed.

"Guess you changed your mind about me being here." Mulder took a deep breath as if to clear the lust-fog from his brain and ran a shaky hand over the soft mat of hair on Skinner's chest.

Warring impulses brought a frown to Skinner's face even as excitement turned his eyes to nearly black. "You still shouldn't be here." His hands belied his words as they tugged against Mulder's lean back and tightened until they stood with their chests, stomachs and groins pressed together.

Mulder gave a faint smile. "When have I ever been good at sticking to the rules?" With no warning, he slid his hands down and cupped Skinner's balls, rolling them between clever fingers. "Isn't that part of the appeal?"

Just as quickly, Mulder bent at the knees and, with his mouth, followed the trail his hand had forged. As he took in Skinner's swollen length, Skinner rewarded him with a bit-off cry. Mulder peered up without stopping and saw Skinner looking down, watching him, panting as if in strenuous exertion.

Mulder smiled fully around his mouthful, hard-pressed to keep his lips wrapped around Skinner's flesh as the unexpected delight bubbled up. When he couldn't contain it any longer, he let go and nearly fell back on his ass as the laughter came out.

Skinner helped him onto the floor by pushing at his shoulder until Mulder fell back flat, still laughing. "Just what in the hell is so damned hilarious, Mulder?" Skinner growled.

Skinner loomed over him, hands on his hips, looking like a Greek god from Mulder's perspective. "Oh...I, ah, I don't know," he laughed weakly, "just that I was enjoying having that piece of flesh of yours in my mouth, and you looked like you were enjoying having it in my mouth, and...you know...life is good sometimes, isn't it? All too infrequently, but these damn highs seem to make up for the in-between lack..." Mulder trailed off, still grinning up at Skinner like an idiot.

Skinner looked down at Mulder with an unreadable expression.

Mulder held up a hand. "Join me? The rug's soft." He wiggled his hips against the lush carpeting. "Sort of," he amended.

Frowning, Skinner glanced at the rug, then wrapped strong fingers around Mulder's wrist. "Get up here," he muttered, pulling hard and yanking a boneless Mulder to his feet. "Knee burns and butt burns don't do it for me." With that dry explanation, he towed Mulder behind him across the room.

They traveled up the stairs and into a bedroom, all cream and black and brown. Mulder grinned like the Cheshire Cat as Skinner pushed him down on the bed's rumpled sheets and covered him in one swift motion.

"My socks are still on," Mulder complained as Skinner grabbed his earlobe between his teeth.

"Leave them on. I like them," Skinner muttered as he explored Mulder's ear.

"But--"

Skinner pulled back abruptly with a falsely patient expression. "I believe I've rediscovered the guts you said I didn't have. So shut up, Mulder," said Skinner, not unkindly, before covering Mulder's mouth with his own. His tongue pressed inward, making speech unnecessary. His hand snaked down between Mulder's legs, searching and finding with precision, making thought impossible.

"Only if you don't stop," Mulder agreed when Skinner released his mouth, "don't stop...that, oh yeah...*that*." Mulder subsided into moans and closed his eyes, giving himself over to what Skinner was doing.

Skinner leaned over to the bedside table, his hand still between Mulder's legs. "Roll over, Mulder," he ordered when he was done preparing.

"What? Why--wait..."

"Not this time. Roll over." Skinner slapped a large hand on Mulder's right thigh.

"But..." Mulder still complained while rolling over as he'd been ordered.

"Good. Raise up a bit."

Skinner slid a large pillow beneath Mulder's hips, leaving his ass up in the air.

"Oh, yeah, just...ah, yeah," Mulder mumbled into the pillow, rocking slightly.

"Wrap your hands here, Mulder," Skinner said as he took one of Mulder's hands and pulled it away from the grip he had on the sheets, showing him instead the sturdy wooden posts on the headboard. "That's it."

Skinner pressed his erection against Mulder and paused. "When was the last time you did this?"

Mulder moaned and rocked. "What does that matter? Just do it already, dammit."

Skinner grasped Mulder's hips in his strong hands. "All right," he agreed, and pushed in.

Mulder groaned out loud, and Skinner stopped.

"No, don't stop! Don't stop."

Skinner pushed against him again.

"Oh yeah, whatever you do, don't stop," Mulder groaned.

Skinner shifted and rolled without notice, pulling Mulder with him until they lay on their sides, Skinner buried to the hilt in Mulder's body. He pushed the pillow away.

"This'll be easier," Skinner murmured, and started moving, fucking Mulder at a slow, steady pace.

Mulder grunted and pushed back into Skinner's motion. "Oh god, if you stop, I'll have to draw my gun."

Skinner gradually increased his pace, then reached down and wrapped a hand around Mulder's rigid cock, setting up a pace that matched his own motions.

It didn't take long. Mulder cried out, convulsing, then shot his semen in warm pulses into Skinner's hand.

Skinner buried himself deeply, letting Mulder's spasms carry him over his own edge with a groan. He tightened his hands around Mulder's body, laying claim to the territory as he marked it with his mouth.

"Oh, yeah, s'nice..." Mulder murmured, lying limp and drained as Skinner came down from his high.

Skinner didn't move from his position, breathing heavily against Mulder's ear for mindless minutes. Mulder's watch beeped on the hour and eventually roused him.

"I should have guessed you'd be a screamer," he murmured.

"I should have guessed you'd be as big as an elephant," Mulder said with a small wiggle of his hips.

Skinner sighed. "Don't move." He shifted, grabbing hold of the top of his condom. "Bear down," he instructed as he pulled out. He disposed of the condom in the bathroom and cleaned himself up, bringing back a damp cloth for Mulder. "Here. I don't like to sleep in a wet spot."

"S'okay," Mulder mumbled. "I'll sleep n'it."

Skinner sat on the edge of the bed, watching Mulder swipe with closed eyes at the mess on his belly. "Mulder, this was...ill-advised. But staying the night is outright dangerous."

Mulder opened his eyes. In the soft light of the beside lamp, they appeared a deep, mossy green, verdant like a jungle and with as many hidden things. "Yeah, dangerous," he agreed, and reached out a hand and stroked down Skinner's shoulder and side, nestling it in the crease of his thigh and hip.

Skinner faced his own demons in the privacy of his mind, very little bleeding through into his expression.

Mulder sighed with satisfaction when Skinner finally turned off the light and lay back down, pulling up the discarded sheet and comforter over their bodies. He curled against Skinner's back, burrowing in to the heat he exuded. Rapidly, Mulder's breathing evened out into the soft susurration of sleep.

Skinner listened to it for a long time as he lay awake, Mulder's hand branding an imprint into the center of his chest. When all was said and done, making love with passion was easy. He'd proven that this evening, despite the enormous risks inherent in the act.

It was the idea of killing with that same passionate intensity that Skinner couldn't bring himself to do, despite the provocation. And therein lay his problem.

OoOoOoO

krysa is the best translation from the Cyrillic word (oops, no Cyrillic font in mailer) I can achieve. In russian, it means 'rat'. :-)

 

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Post Meridiem Synthesis VI: Exordium  
by rac / September 2000

Rating: R for m/m interaction.  
Spoilers: Over the course of the entire series, there'll be bits and pieces from most of season six. This particular piece takes place after "Arcadia" and "Alpha", number two and three of the 6th season "A" eps.  
Archiving: Yes, with all headers intact, thanks. Located also at my own site: http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm.  
Summary/Notes: Thanks for letting me know I'm not the lone person who rather enjoyed season six :-) I've wanted to write something for a while that unites the season in a singular way (at least in my twisted imagination), so while I struggle with another series, here it is. There's more following this one. :-) Long live the choke hold! Thanks to devo, cdavis, Xanthe and JiM, for commenting and making suggestions. All remaining faux pas are all mine.  
Thanks to everyone for the encouraging words :-) I spent three days this week breaking in a new computer (yes!) and getting it all set up to my specifications and such...so I've been sidetracked. But finally, here's another installment.  
Thoughtful critiques or blatant brown-nosing to por favor, gracias :-)

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OoOoO

Post Meridiem Synthesis VI: Exordium

The doorbell rang. Skinner checked the clock on the bookcase: 11:37 p.m., very late. It could be only one person.

Was it too late?

Conflict waged inside as Skinner sat unmoving. The doorbell pealed again, and his jaw ached from the pressure of grinding teeth.

Only after the third chime did he rise and head for the door, with a sense of fate settling over him.

Mulder's gaze was unnaturally bright. "I wasn't sure you were going to answer."

Skinner stared back. "Neither was I."

Tension shimmered in the air; Skinner relented and stood back, gesturing Mulder into the apartment. Without another word, Mulder headed directly for the sofa, flopping down with his coat on and his hands jammed in his pockets.

Skinner stood by the sofa and frowned down at man sitting there. Still silent, Mulder closed his eyes and let his head flop back onto the cushions.

Debating briefly, Skinner detoured to the bar, poured a couple of fingers of whisky into a glass and held it out to Mulder. "Here."

Mulder's eyes cracked open, and he shook his head. "No thanks."

Skinner didn't budge. "Take it. I'm all out of beer."

With a sigh, Mulder took the glass. His trench coat rumpled with the movement of his arm, making a whir and shush that sounded abnormally loud in the stillness.

"Thanks."

Skinner nodded an acknowledgement and sat adjacent to him in the recliner, taking in the drawn look around Mulder's eyes. "You look exhausted. Why aren't you home, asleep?"

Mulder held up his whisky glass to the light, viewing the contents as if it were crime evidence. It yielded no secrets to him, and he tossed back most of it in one, choking gulp.

Skinner wondered if it might come right back up as Mulder coughed his way through the burn with a forearm in front of his mouth.

"You might have mentioned you weren't in a sipping mood. I have cheaper liquor if you're just looking to get drunk."

Mulder ignored him and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, the glass slowly twisting in his hands.

"Tell me something...would you say I'm overly credulous?"

Whatever Skinner expected, it was something far different than the question Mulder asked. The words penetrated, but it took another moment for their full significance to blossom. When it did, it took all Skinner had to remain stoic as his heart kicked into high gear.

The silence stretched out and Mulder looked up. "Forget it. Kind of a stupid question to ask, isn't it." He reached out and placed the glass on the coffee table and stood. "You're right. It's too late. I shouldn't have come."

Too late.

Skinner rose and took the three strides needed to stand in front of Mulder, blocking his way. His neck felt as if a vise encircled it; he had to clear his throat before he could talk, and even then, his voice sounded raspy like sandpaper.

They were close enough that Skinner could feel the body heat emanating from Mulder. "Mulder, what's going on?"

Mulder's green eyes seemed shot with gold, clear and empty. He shook his head faintly. "Nothing. Like I said, it's too late, the damage is already done. Sorry I bothered you," he said as he stepped aside, trying to leave.

Skinner reached out, grabbed Mulder's arm and held tight. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

He realized he'd yelled it when Mulder glared at him.

"I'm talking about a very dead woman who might still be alive if it weren't for me, that's what I'm talking about."

Relief surged through Skinner in a guilty tide. A woman--Mulder's California case.

Belatedly, he loosened his fingers until they only lay on Mulder's arm. "I got the impression from Scully's preliminary report that you both did what you could. You can't blame yourself for what others do, Mulder. You're not God."

"I don't think *God* is God," Mulder said with a mirthless laugh, but his eyes weren't quite so bleak and empty as they'd been before. "Karen sent me something in the mail before she died. She planned her own death and manipulated me to achieve it."

"What did she send you?"

Mulder contemplated Skinner for a moment, then turned back and sprawled down on the sofa. "Remember the poster I had before the fire, the one with the flying saucer and 'I Want To Believe'?"

Skinner settled carefully at the opposite end of the couch. "She sent you that?"

Mulder nodded. "Yeah, we'd...I'd gotten to know her over the internet." He laid his head back on the cushion, biting his lip. "She had it in her living room. Scully saw it and believed Karen had lured me out there with the case just so she could meet me." Mulder shook his head. "She must have mailed the poster before Detweiler showed up that night. It arrived in today's mail at work."

Skinner didn't know what Mulder needed from him and groped around for something to say that wasn't trite. "You must have made a strong impression on her, Mulder."

"Yeah, I'm a memorable guy." Mulder looked out the corner of his eyes at Skinner. "Speaking of memorable, what are you doing all the way over there?"

Skinner took a few seconds to follow Mulder's leap of focus. When he did, everything immediately crystallized; he knew why Mulder had come. "Waiting for you to tell me why you're here."

Mulder stared at him wordlessly for a moment. "You never asked me about playing house with Scully out in La-La land."

"I know you were very busy; it didn't take you long to solve the case."

"No, it didn't," Mulder said absently, and contemplated a scuffed toe on his wingtip. "You know, Walter, Scully's my partner, and she's my best friend. Despite her wearing green goo on her face and rolling her eyes at my attempts to get her to play Laura to my Rob in the bedroom." He smiled at the memory. "When I walked upstairs and saw the blood everywhere..." Mulder shuddered as he revisited the images in his mind.

"But she's fine, Mulder. It turned out fine, and you solved the case as best as you could."

Mulder nodded slowly. "Yeah. Tell me something...do you miss being married, Walter?"

Skinner blinked, blindsided by the question. He could feel his automatic defense mechanisms crashing into place, freezing his features into stone. "Excuse me?"

Mulder seemed not to notice the temperature plummet in the air between them. "I mean, do you miss sharing the daily routine with someone? To make it all less...boring. Do you miss having somebody there in the middle of the night when the boogie man comes to call?"

"I--" What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

Mulder plowed on, making an answer unnecessary. "I stayed late tonight, finishing the report on the Detweiler case, and I couldn't stop thinking of Karen Berquist. She lived alone, with her dogs and a debilitating, painful disease. Just a couple weeks ago, I'd been in San Diego, pretending to live the American Dream while we uncovered the nightmare. "

"Mulder, what happened to her is not your fault."

Mulder shook his head. "For months now, since I came back from the boat accident, I've been having these...dreams. They're strangely real. I'm married, with two teen-agers from hell, and my life is so fucked up. I want to make everything right, but I don't know how. The American Dream is all around me, but I don't know how to live it, I don't even really want it. I'm totally miserable, scared to death and trapped in the nightmare."

"Mulder..."

Mulder sat up and ran a jerky hand through his disheveled hair. "Yeah, I know. I've got a psychology degree, the picture couldn't be more plain."

When Mulder stood up again, Skinner lost his temper. "Mulder, take off your damn coat and sit *down*. Now."

A brief battle of wills ensued, and Mulder capitulated, tossing his coat over the back of the couch and slouching back down into the cushions with a smart-ass smirk. "Have I ever told you how much I like it when you crack the whip?"

Skinner ignored Mulder's comment. "Mulder, I..." He shook his head. All of this was fucking crazy. He should kick Mulder's ass out of the apartment so fast, his head spun. This was suicide. Literally. But it seemed he'd already made his choice.

"Yeah, Mulder, I miss it." Skinner said it softly and wasn't sure if Mulder heard it. "Everybody needs a reason to keep getting up in the morning and jumping back into the war."

The silence lasted so long this time, Skinner's wandering thoughts started to slide into sleep. He jerked back awake and found Mulder still slouched on the sofa, his eyes closed.

Moving slowly, Skinner stood. His body ached with faint echoes of his past miseries, focused mostly in his joints and limbs: a distant warning for a storm moving in. Yes, definitely a big storm moving in.

One by one, he went around the apartment and shut off lamps and locked the doors. When he stopped by the sofa, Mulder's eyes were open and glittering in the ambient light from the patio doors.

"It's late," Skinner said, watching Mulder.

Mulder nodded, his gold eyes turned to silver in the darkness. "Tomorrow will be here before we know it."

Skinner reached out a hand, curled strong fingers around Mulder's wrist and pulled. "Get your ass off my sofa, Mulder. You can't sleep there tonight."

Mulder stepped in closer, opened his eyes wide and stared straight at Skinner in an exaggeration of innocence. "I can't? But it's so comfortable."

Skinner backed off. "My mistake. I thought you'd prefer the bed. But if you'd rather have the sofa..."

"No, no, the bed's just fine. I'll make do." Mulder flashed Skinner a big grin, the first since he'd arrived. "Shall we?"

With a flourish, Mulder stretched and whipped off his tie, casually tossing it on to the sofa. In a few more steps, he'd undone the buttons on his shirt and pulled it off, letting it follow the same direction as his tie. He wore no undershirt, and his bare chest and shoulders gleamed ghostly pale.

Skinner followed him over to the stairs. "They'll be a wrinkled mess by tomorrow morning, left like that."

Mulder kicked his shoes off, and his pants and boxers fell down to his ankles. He stepped out of them as he started up the stairs. "Then I'll have to steal a shirt from your closet."

Skinner eyed the ascending figure on the stairs as he picked up the discarded clothes and tossed them onto a nearby chair. By the time he caught up, Mulder already lay sprawled on his stomach amid the bed's sheets.

"I don't recall giving you free use of my home or possessions."

Mulder rolled over. "I know, Walter. That's why I keep encroaching, it's the only way." He lifted a leg and waved his foot. "See, I even left my socks on for you."

Skinner looked him over as he methodically removed his own clothes and hung them up. "I really don't think black dress socks are quite the same as the thick white gym kind, Mulder. But thank you for trying."

Mulder snorted and ripped off the socks, tossing them onto the floor. "You're a hard man to please, Walter." He eyed a naked Skinner coming out of the closet. "Or maybe I should just say you're a hard man."

Skinner gave him a look and disappeared into the bathroom. By the time he came back out, the light was off and the room lay in darkness. He made his way to the bed by feel and memory.

Sliding beneath the covers, he found the bed already warmed from Mulder's body heat and was absurdly pleased. "I've been trying to picture you a father of two teenagers. I admit it's more than I can imagine."

Mulder shuddered. "We can bring that subject up, or you can bring me up. But both at the same time aren't going to work."

Warm hands pushed at Skinner and started kneading his shoulders. He groaned and arched into the pressure; it felt so damn good.

"I noticed you moving a little stiffly this evening. Everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder. Just...a storm moving in. A change in pressure."

"Yeah?" Mulder slid his hands around Skinner and laid his head down on Skinner's shoulder. "I like storms. All that electricity discharging into the atmosphere. It's invigorating." Mulder shifted up and leaned over, trailing his mouth along Skinner's jaw, using his teeth in places. "But then again, so's this." His mouth finally reached Skinner's, and he dropped the leisurely pace. "Come on, Walter, let's make some thunder."

Skinner let Mulder's passion sweep him along its turbulent path.

Some storms were good, he acknowledged silently as they lay sprawled in the aftermath.

Some storms were not. He feared the latter kind were building.

OoOoOoO

Part seven coming soon to a mailbox near you...maybe even yours. :-) gee, stephen king has the right idea.

 

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Post Meridiem Synthesis VII: Tremor  
by rac / September 2000

Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: Over the course of the entire series, there'll be bits and pieces from most of season six. This particular piece takes place after "Trevor".  
Archiving: Yes, with all headers intact, thanks. Located also at my own site: http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm.  
Summary/Notes: Thanks for letting me know I'm not the lone person who rather enjoyed season six :-) I've wanted to write something for a while that unites the season in a singular way (at least in my twisted imagination), so while I struggle with another series, here it is. There's more following this one. :-) Long live the choke hold! Thanks to devo, cdavis, Xanthe and JiM, for commenting and making suggestions. All remaining faux pas are all mine.  
Thoughtful critiques or blatant brown-nosing to , gracias :-)

* * *

OoOoOoO

Post Meridiem Synthesis VII: Tremors

"Come on, Troy, watch out for his left. Get those feet moving! Ah, shee-it."

A dull thud and a grunt marked the moment when Skinner's glove connected with Troy's head gear.

Standing off to the side, Mulder winced.

"Hey, Slugger, let up on him, hold on, hold on." A bandy-legged man hopped into the ring and made his way to the man laying against the ropes. "Ah, hell. Well, that's it for tonight." He let go of the fighter's head and turned to Skinner. "You just say the word, an' I'll have a match set up faster 'n you can blink. I don't know what's ridin' your ass lately, but it's sure making you hell on wheels in the ring. You could have a hell of a name."

Skinner peeled off his gloves and head gear and spit out his mouth guard. "Thanks, but no thanks, Mack. I get knocked around enough these days."

"Keep it in mind if your day job goes sour," Mack called as Skinner ducked under the ropes and hopped off the platform.

"Now there's a thought. Nice to know you'll have a career waiting in the wings if the politics at work goes south." Mulder stepped up behind Skinner, very amused.

Skinner turned around as he wiped sweat off his face and neck. "Mulder. When did you get back from Mississippi?" Briefly, he gave a narrow-eyed scan of the gym, looking for out-of-place faces.

"Late this afternoon. Hit all the rush hour traffic leaving National, so I went home first." Mulder fell into step with Skinner. "I went into the office about 6:30 and didn't see you, so..." he shrugged. "I drove by here and saw your car." He raised an eyebrow. "Looking good, Slugger. Like you'd really like to rip somebody's head off."

Skinner gave him a sideways look before ducking out of his tee-shirt. "Don't tempt me, Mulder."

"Whoa, okay, I guess your work week wasn't as fun as mine."

Skinner sat on the bench and pulled off his shoes and socks. "I saw the preliminary autopsy reports Scully e-mailed. Dismembered, carbonized bodies...you call that fun?"

"Yeah, well," Mulder put his foot up on the bench and leaned on his knee. "Call me sick, but I found the case kind of invigorating. Scully and me, out in the field, working as a team again, bouncing ideas off each other." He looked away and brushed at his pants, embarrassed. "I missed it."

"That's not sick." Skinner swiped the tee-shirt over his damp head and neck again, and let it fall down onto his lap. "You're damn good at what you do, Mulder. I'm glad that you and Scully are working well together again."

Mulder nodded, staring at his feet. "You going to take a shower?"

"I'm sure as hell not leaving like this," Skinner indicated his sweaty clothes.

"I haven't eaten yet. How about I pick us up something and meet you back at your place?"

Mulder's question sounded surprisingly diffident, and for that very reason Skinner found himself rethinking his original refusal. His place was clean--he swept it on a regular basis. It was the only way he could function day in, day out; there had to be at least one place where he could relax in peace. The office, where he spent the majority of each day, with its hidden wires and feeds, was certainly the last place conducive to his peace of mind.

Skinner stood up, nodding slowly. "Okay. But do me a favor." Skinner turned and rummaged in his locker, then held out something to Mulder. "Don't use lock picks tonight. Try entering the old fashioned way...with the keys." Mulder's comical expression nearly made him smile. "And--do me another favor. Be careful."

He stressed the last words, giving Mulder a significant stare, and Mulder nodded in return, getting his message.

"See you in thirty."

Skinner nodded and headed to the showers with Mulder's lazy smile burned into his memory. It was sheer nonsense--no, it was sheer stupidity, truthfully, to indulge in this...thing. This thing they kept doing.

As the hot water cascaded over him with pummeling force, memories of Vietnam came back with vicious clarity: Red splattering in wide arcs, pools of red staining the vivid green and rich brown of the earth, bodies shattering into various disparate parts. Pain exploding through him with nauseating force; death hovering over him.

Recently, death had hovered again all too closely. Its pain-steeped presence filled him for 24 hours, and each nerve ending in his body had felt as if it were on fire. His life had been reduced to series of moves on a Game Boy: push a few buttons and oh, too bad, you lose.

Well, fuck that. He'd died a few too many times at this point. Sooner or later, it would be real. And he wasn't selfless enough to think dying was noble and heroic. He'd been there; it was simply painful and usually damned senseless.

He damn well wanted to live. If he couldn't guarantee that for the future, then he'd take what he could right now.

When the uneasy questions kept whispering through his mind--What about Mulder, does he want to die, too--he pushed it away. He was the one threatened, not Mulder. Mulder was, after all, seemingly protected by the very people he hunted. They needed him for some convoluted plan. Skinner had to believe that Mulder would be okay; the alternative was unsupportable.

Doubt remained a bitter taste in his mouth.

OoO

Victorious green eyes stabbed at Skinner as laughter came from the slash of his enemy's mouth. "He's betrayed you, Mulder. Spied on you even while he took you into his bed. How's it feel, huh? How's it feel to know you've been had, been royally screwed by a person you thought you could trust?"

Mulder turned and gave Skinner a look of blank horror even as Skinner protested the accusation.

"No, it wasn't like that, it's not like he described. Dammit, Mulder, you've got to believe me!" He reached out and tried to grab hold of Mulder, but Mulder easily eluded his grip. Shaking his head in mute horror, Mulder backed away and pushed blindly out of Skinner's office.

"Wait! Wait, goddammit, let me fucking explain!"

The sound of running feet pounded in his head, along with soft, nasty laughter. He ran after Mulder, suddenly out on the streets of Washington, running along the sidewalks around the Hoover as normal weekday traffic filled the streets. He wove in and out of an increasingly thicker crowd, ducked under a police barricade and scooted up to find shelter behind a police vehicle, flashing his FBI identification.

"You here to take over?" The police lieutenant in charge asked him.

He eyed the large, ornate stone bank building that Mulder had entered. "No, I think I've got agents in there." His heart pounded from exertion and fear.

He watched the SWAT team hustle into place, saw them storm the door. He felt it before he heard it, a deep, heavy vibration, a rumbling that shook up his world. The shock wave pushed outward and glass exploded from the windows, belching out huge amounts of flames and smoke. It rocked the vehicle he crouched behind as the sky rained down debris over everyone.

The shock wave passed over, leaving his ears ringing, and he stood slowly, peering at the wreckage of the building, the wreckage he willfully had created.

In horror, he turned to see a lined face wreathed in smoke staring impassively at him. "See what you've done? You believed you could successfully lie to us, play both sides of the fence for your own gain, for Mulder. It doesn't work that way, Skinner. You're nothing in the scheme of things, nothing. You have no power, you have no choices; you're only what we wish you to be. You'd best get that through your head before you cause any more damage."

A wail tore from him with the force of an explosion. "Nooooo..."

OoO

"Walter. Wake up, you're dreaming. Wake up," Mulder shook him with increasing force, trying to snap Skinner out of the nightmare's grip.

Skinner awoke and sat up in one move, his heart racing and an acrid, cold sweat dripping down his sides. He gulped air as if he'd been suffocating.

"You okay? You here with me now?"

Skinner nodded, unable to reply yet with words.

Mulder's hands curled warm around his nape and arm, a solid contact to ground him. "And I thought I had sleeping problems," Mulder said with quiet irony. With one more squeeze, he slid from the bed.

Skinner cringed away from the light suddenly pouring out of the bathroom, flooding the bedroom and shining into his sleep-sensitive eyes. Mulder applied a cool washcloth to his neck, and he sighed at the ridiculous relief it brought.

"You're sweating like a cold beer on a hot day." The washcloth swiped over his neck and head, then around his chest and sides. "Whatever you were dreaming must have been hell, or at least as hot as," Mulder quipped.

Vivid green eyes and the flare of yellow and orange flames were incandescent in his mind. "You could say that, yeah," Skinner ground out. The horror of the dream came back with a vengeance, and he grabbed Mulder and pulled him abruptly down on the mattress. Skinner needed to fill his senses with the smell of the other man, the taste of him, to rid himself of the lingering feel of sour terror.

The small noises Mulder made as he tried to breathe around Skinner's devouring kiss eventually filtered through Skinner's fog, and he realized how tightly his hands were clutching at Mulder's shoulders. Appalled, Skinner released him, curling a hand instead around Mulder's bare thigh, still needing a tangible connection with Mulder's live presence.

"Are you okay?" Mulder sat and watched him, shrewd eyes taking Skinner's measure.

Mulder's bottom lip drew Skinner's eye, red and puffy from where he had sucked it into his mouth and almost chewed on it. Skinner reached up and ran a finger over its swollen surface, facing evidence of his own capacity for mindless, fear-driven violence. "Yeah." He dropped his hand. "Sorry," he said, indicating Mulder's mouth.

Mulder acknowledged his apology with a faint nod. "Something scared the hell out of you, enough to have you shouting out loud in your sleep and now trying to eat me alive. Care to share it with me?"

Skinner looked away from his discerning gaze. "Just--stress." At Mulder's raised eyebrow and doubting stare, he relented. "You and Scully were in a building when a bomb exploded. While I watched." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, finally letting go of Mulder and scrubbing his face.

Mulder frowned deeply.

"It's just the usual crap, Mulder, nothing prophetic. Even I can interpret that one." Skinner took the washcloth out of Mulder's slack hand and stood up, escaping into the bathroom.

When he turned the light off and came out, Mulder lay stretched out on his side in the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp, head in his hand. His distant expression let Skinner know he was light-years away.

"You know, as much as we explore and probe, I don't think we'll ever really understand the true nature of the universe in which we live. I think our finite minds lack the ability."

Skinner lay down on the bed, suppressing a groan as knotted muscles in his back and shoulders protested the movement. "What brought on this philosophical mood?"

Mulder shrugged. "Occupational hazard."

Would that it were the only one, Skinner thought.

"But seriously, think about it. Think of all the twists and turns our lives have taken to get us to where we are today."

Skinner kept a straight face. "What, in bed?"

Mulder gave a small grin. "Okay, in bed. Think of all the many things in our lives that, if they'd changed one small bit, could have us in some totally different place."

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you."

"No, no, what I mean is, think of the enormity of it. Is it all random? Can it be?" Mulder shook his head. "I don't think so."

"I thought you didn't believe in a God, Mulder," Skinner said, turning his head to watch Mulder worry his lower lip. It still puffed out and reddened again as Mulder agitated it.

"I don't, at least--well, no, I don't." Mulder reached out and swept a hand over Skinner's chest, playing idly with the soft carpet of hair covering it. "But I think--I think there's something beyond our comprehension, something making things move in a particular direction. I think, if we're lucky, when we screw things up and deviate from some general plan, we may be given another chance to get it right."

Skinner stared at him. "Where is all this coming from? I was the one with the nightmare, not you. I've never heard you this...optimistic before, Mulder."

Mulder shifted a bit under Skinner's regard. "Maybe I've never had anything to be optimistic about before. It's just...I don't know. Things happening lately have me thinking maybe my life does have meaning, maybe there is some value to it all."

Sharp pains stabbed through Skinner's chest and gut, and Skinner pulled Mulder's head down onto his chest to avoid those eagle eyes. "Christ, Mulder," Skinner said gruffly, "I should damn well hope your life has meaning."

A hell of a lot more meaning than Skinner's life had at this point.

Guilt squirmed through him despite the iron fist he used to hold it down. He thought of the strong survival instinct that ran deep in him, dictating his continual adherence to a game of someone else's making. A dangerous game, where he played the fulcrum between two opposing forces, both capable enough of ripping him to shreds.

"Yeah, well, sometimes I've thought, why bother."

"Because I'd kick your ass from here to Alaska if you gave up."

Mulder chuckled. "Or lecture me until I'm too numb to buck the."

Skinner pushed a hand through the thick silk of Mulder's hair, feeling it slide against his skin. He glanced at the clock. "It's 3:30 in the morning, Mulder. We've got to get up in three hours, and I don't think either one of us is the least bit sleepy at the moment." Skinner pushed Mulder over onto his back and followed him, pressing him down into the mattress.

Mulder grinned. "I really do like it when you exercise your executive decision-making skills."

"Mulder," Skinner took his mouth in a deep, open-mouthed kiss, thrusting his hips down against Mulder's groin, "it's not work skills I want to exercise right now. Shut up and get with the program."

Mulder complied with alacrity and enthusiasm, allowing Skinner to push reality aside for a few hours. For the third time in his life, first during his tour in Vietnam, and second, during his divorce, Skinner realized he wished he could push reality aside permanently.

It would be nice to have a second chance.

OoOoOoO

part...uh, eight <g> coming soon to a mailbox near you.  
rac <>  
rac's keyhole, peer in at: http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm  
Requited, all Sk/M, all the time: http://enook.net/requited.htm

 

* * *

 

Post Meridiem Synthesis VIII: Life's a Game  
by rac / September 2000

Rating: PG-13  


Spoilers: Over the course of the entire series, there'll be bits and pieces from most of season six. This particular piece takes place between/during the episodes "The Unnatural" and "Three of a Kind".  
Archiving: Yes, with all headers intact, thanks. Located also at my own site: http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm.  
Summary/Notes: Thanks for letting me know I'm not the lone person who rather enjoyed season six :-) I've wanted to write something for a while that unites the season in a singular way (at least in my twisted imagination), so while I struggle with another series, here it is. There's more following this one. :-) Long live the choke hold! Also, in my impatience to get this one out since it languished around in my computer unfinished for a while, this hasn't been beta'd. So...more so than usual, all faux pas are mine, mine, mine, dammit.  
Thanks to everyone for the encouraging words :-) Here's another installment.  
Thoughtful critiques or blatant brown-nosing to , gracias :-)

* * *

OoOoO

Post Meridiem Synthesis VIII: Life's a Game

"Baseball, it is said, is only a game. True. And the Grand Canyon is only a hole in Arizona. Not all holes, or games, are created equal." George F. Will

It was the usual cattle herd inching off the afternoon shuttle at Logan. The plane full of suits gathered their briefcases and shuffled off one by one through the gangway and into the crowded gate area. Mulder joined in, one of the herd. He clutched the handle of his carry-on and followed the line, a moving mass of people expunged into the airport and, like headwaters, flowing along into ever-larger masses of people moving toward the exits.

The arrival area was a madhouse. The late-day spring sunshine slanted down at an awkward angle, and Mulder snapped his sunglasses on quickly, scanning the hoard of triple-parked cars waiting for arriving travelers. Finding a dark blue Concorde among the pack was like finding a needle in a haystack...but damned if he didn't catch a glimpse of it, about ten cars down in line, between an Explorer and an Avis shuttle trying to inch by.

As he approached, weaving around a logjam of unmoving cars, Skinner pushed open the driver's door and stood up. "Trunk's open. Can you drive?"

Mulder dumped his suitcase in next to Skinner's and slammed the lid. "Sure...long week?"

"Something like that," Skinner replied, and limped painful around the hood of the car to the passenger side.

Mulder stared. "What the hell happened to you?"

Grimacing, Skinner slid into the car and Mulder followed, still staring. "Tell me."

Skinner gave him a cool look in return and gestured at the road in front of them. "Traffic's moving."

Cursing under his breath, Mulder put the car in gear and joined the trail of cars heading toward the airport exit. "I thought you were only up here to clean up the mess the Boston Field Office made of the Callahan case."

"I was. Idiots," Skinner added under his breath, looking out his window.

"Did you clean the blood off your sword?"

Skinner turned back and gave Mulder a blank look.

"You know, after you chopped off the heads in question," Mulder explained.

Skinner's mouth flattened. "I'll be announcing new people in certain positions on Monday."

Mulder nodded. "Disgruntled SAC Attacks and Injures AD, news story at eleven." He shot Skinner an amused glance, expecting to share the humor, but instead saw mottled red creeping up Skinner's clenched jaw. Mulder gaped, "No, don't tell me."

"Of course not, Mulder," Skinner growled, adding dryly, "That only happens to me in my own office."

Mulder winced, then ploughed forward. "Then tell me how you injured your leg."

"Ankle," Skinner corrected tightly. "I twisted my ankle when I fell."

"You fell."

Skinner nodded.

"And why did you fall?"

Skinner looked out the side window. "I...had an episode."

Mulder gripped the steering wheel and his jaw more tightly. "Exit's coming up. Where to?"

Skinner reached in his suit jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. "Get on 93 South to 90 West."

Mulder's fingers kept tightening spasmodically on the wheel. "We're not going to the Bureau?"

Skinner turned his head and looked at him with surprise. "I didn't ask you to come up here for work."

Mulder mirrored his expression. "I thought--I thought it was about the case. I thought you wanted my help with the Callahan mess."

Skinner's mouth quirked up at the corner. "No, Mulder. No case. Just--just..." he made a shrugging motion with a twist of his neck, rubbing a hand on the side of his neck. "I just wanted to get away."

Mulder looked at him gravely and nodded faintly, then concentrated on navigating through a few back-to-back turns. Once on the highway, he looked at Skinner again. "I want to know exactly what you meant by 'an episode'."

Sighing, Skinner settled more deeply into the seat, letting his head fall back against the headrest. "Last night, my blood pressure must have either spiked or dropped suddenly, and I took a header at the hotel."

Mulder nodded. "And did you get this checked out by a doctor? Or is this Dr. Skinner's professional opinion of the event in question?"

"I'm fine, Mulder. Believe me. It happened in the lobby of the Hyatt, and the vigilant staff had paramedics there before I could even get up. My blood sugar level was low, and they called it stress-induced."

"Skipped lunch again."

Skinner snorted. "Look who's talking. I'm fine now, except for my damn ankle. Twisted it when I went down. I'm wearing the ace bandage the hospital gave me--and no, it's not broken, Mother Mulder."

"And you went back to the office this morning, didn't you."

Skinner paused long enough that Mulder turned to see him staring blankly out the front window. "No, actually, I didn't. I took the day off since most of the work was done."

That slowed Mulder down, and he nodded thoughtfully. "So where are we going?"

Interestingly enough, Skinner wouldn't meet his eyes. "It's a surprise."

Mulder thought about that. "I take it I didn't need to wear my suit, then."

Skinner shook his head. "No. We can change when we get there."

"Good thing I packed my jeans and sneakers."

Silence descended on the car as they zoomed westward.

"I didn't tell Scully where I was going. She was out of the office today, anyway, attending a pathology conference yesterday and today."

Skinner made a face and closed his eyes. "I wasn't thinking this morning when I called. I should have said not to mention this to anyone, that it didn't have anything to do with Bureau business."

"No harm done." Mulder frowned briefly at Skinner. "Your header last night...it could have been lingering effects from what happened to you a few months back. Maybe when you get back to DC, you should have Scully take a look, just in case."

Skinner sighed and opened his eyes as he nodded in agreement. "I'm okay, Mulder. But I'll tell her it happened. She should have the complete history, just in case."

Mulder had expected a snappy rejection of his suggestion; Skinner's soft-spoken agreement chilled his blood a bit and showed him the depth of Skinner's weariness.

"You still haven't told me where we're going."

A faint smile curled the corners of Skinner's mouth. "Fishing, Fox?"

"Resorting to tacky alliterations to distract me?"

Skinner's grin warmed away a bit of the chill that Mulder had felt.

"We've got another..." Skinner looked at his watch, "four hours or so before we get to our destination. Better sit back and relax."

Mulder started thinking about what might lie to the west of Boston. "You going to feed me, or is starving me into obedience part of your scheme? I didn't catch lunch before the flight."

"Find some place you like and pull off." Skinner winced and readjusted his leg. "Some place other than a greasy spoon, please."

An hour later, Mulder pulled off the highway at a ubiquitous Cracker Barrel. The food arrived quickly, and within a scant hour they were paying the bill. When Skinner turned to leave, Mulder had disappeared into the depths of the jammed gift shop.

He caught up with him over a display of singing daisies.

"Do you think Scully would like this?"

Skinner stared at the monstrosity in Mulder's hands. "You're joking, of course. Come on, Mulder, we've still got three hours' driving ahead of us."

Mulder didn't budge. "I always pick something up for Scully when I go away without her."

Skinner sighed. "Believe me, Mulder, where we're going, you'll have plenty of opportunities to buy just the right thing for your partner. Frankly, I think if you gave that to her, she'd go on strike and force you to write the budget report all by yourself."

Mulder set aside the pot of dancing and singing plastic daisies and fell into slow step with Skinner, looking innocently at him. "What are you talking about?"

Skinner did roll his eyes at that. "Oh, come on, Mulder, I know you don't get those semi-annual budget reports completed on your own. And with one due soon, I'd stay on Scully's best side, if I were you."

They settled in the Concorde, and Mulder pulled back onto the highway. He glanced over at Skinner, lazing back in the passenger seat.

"Why don't you give me the directions, and then you can put your seat back and take a rest? Frankly, you look done in."

A mulish expression on Skinner's face had Mulder thinking he'd refuse, then suddenly he relented. "Fine." He reached into his pocket for the slip of paper. "If you have any questions, ask me. I really don't want to be driving aimlessly around New England all night while you play macho man with the directions."

Mulder grinned. "Oh, I don't know, sounds kind of nice. You, me and the highway..." He laughed at the expression on Skinner's face. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you up when we get to the..." he checked the paper, "the Lake Front Motel." He looked speculatively at Skinner. "Lake Front, huh?"

Skinner smiled smugly. "Give it up, Mulder. You'll never guess."

"We'll see. I've still got three hours to speculate before we get there."

Skinner settled back, chuckling.

Mulder reached out and turned the radio on to a classic rock station. As the twenty-five year old sounds of the Steve Miller Band softly filled the car, he felt oddly content. Maybe all the crap in his past could be put to rest; maybe the future had a brighter hue. He looked over to the man lying back in the passenger seat, and a spurt of something... tenderness?... uncoiled from his stomach and warmed through his veins.

Skinner's self-containment reflected itself even in his sleep. He lay back, his head turned to the side on the plush headrest, his arms tucked neatly at each side. Stress still showed its face in the lines and faint frown marring Skinner's smooth brow. His ankle still pained him, no doubt. Mulder made a mental note to make sure they had plenty of Advil on hand for the swelling and pain.

All in all, Mulder thought as he drove on through the deepening twilight, he couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be right this moment. And wasn't that an X file.

OoO

The phone rang just as the clerk finished totaling up the prices on his purchases: 3 tee-shirts; a book, "Baseball: 100 Classic Moments in the History of the Game"; two videos, "The All-Century Team", and "Abbott and Costello: Who's On First"; and the Hall of Fame keychain Mulder had found for Scully. He fumbled the credit card from his wallet while reaching for the phone with his other hand.

"Mulder." Static on the line crackled and popped, and he turned around, trying to get better reception. "Hello?"

Scully's tinny voice filtered through the static. "Hello, Mulder? Can you hear me? I'm at the hotel. Where are you?"

Mulder stopped dead and flashed Skinner a funny look. "What hotel?"

"What do you mean, what hotel? Las Vegas. I'm in Las Vegas, aren't you?"

Mulder felt giddy with sudden relief. "Las Vegas? Hell, no."

"You called me," Scully insisted.

"No, I didn't." Mulder could recite exactly what he'd done for the past 24 hours, and none of it had involved calling his partner.

"What do you mean you didn't call me? Oh man, I am gonna kick their asses."

"Kick whose asses?"

"I gotta go, Mulder. I'll tell you everything tomorrow."

"Scully, what's going on? Scully?" The phone spit out nothing but an electric hum.

"What was that all about?" Skinner asked, frowning.

Mulder shrugged and pocketed the phone, at a total loss. "I have no clue. But she's in Las Vegas for some reason, and thought I was there, too."

The clerk behind the counter got his attention and he bit his lip while signing the credit card receipt.

"Thanks for shopping in the Baseball Hall of Fame Museum Store."

Mulder smiled and took the large bag from the clerk, his mind a thousand miles away. "She said she was going to kick their asses."

Skinner held the door open as they left the Hall of Fame museum. "Bottom line, Mulder...was she okay?"

"Son of a bitch!" Mulder shot Skinner a big-eyed look. "They didn't."

"Mulder..." Skinner's impatience was hard to miss. "What's going on?"

"The Lone Gunmen. They were planning on attending a Def-Con conference out in Las Vegas this weekend, wanting to nose around for inside information. But why the hell would they get Scully out there, too?"

Skinner's expression was sour. "Frankly, Mulder, I wouldn't put much past them. And to be honest, I really don't want their antics intruding on my weekend. So unless you think Scully's in danger, I'd rather forget all of them and enjoy the rest of our rapidly waning time in Cooperstown."

Mulder paused as they walked under the budding trees edging Main Street, watching the way Skinner's hips moved in the tight jeans, the hitch in his stride from his injured ankle.

Skinner took another step, then stopped and turned back to Mulder. "What now?"

Mulder smiled and shook his head. "Nothing. You're right, time's wasting, Walter. There's still a lot we haven't seen yet." He stepped forward and splayed his hand over Skinner's wide back as they continued down the street. The connection felt solid and warm and good.

OoOoOoO

"I believe in the Church of Baseball. I tried all the major religions and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance: there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I learned that, I gave Jesus a chance." =Bull Durham=

-=part nine, arriving sometime in the not-too-distant future at a mailbox near you=-

feedback to 

 

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Post Meridiem Synthesis IX: Afield, Apart, Asunder  
by rac / September 2000

Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: Over the course of the entire series, there'll be bits and pieces from most of season six. This particular piece takes place after the episode "Field Trip".  
Archiving: Yes, with all headers intact, thanks. Located also at my own site http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm (yes, it's up!)  
Summary/Notes: Thanks for letting me know I'm not the lone person who rather enjoyed season six :-) I've wanted to write something for a while that unites the season in a singular way (at least in my twisted imagination), so while I struggle with another series, here it is. There's more following this one. :-) Long live the choke hold! Thanks muchly to cdavis for pointing out brainless errors, and for Sam and JiM and Diana for reading and encouraging with feedback. All remaining faux pas are mine, mine, mine, dammit.  
Note about the title: someone made me realize that not everyone may understand the title reference, so here it is. Post Meridiem is what "p.m." stands for. I'm sort of referring to the fact that most of all the stories take place "after hours". :-)  
Thanks to everyone for the encouraging words. Here's another installment.  
Thoughtful critiques or blatant brown-nosing to , gracias :-)

* * *

OoOoOoO

Afield, Apart, Asunder

An eerie silence lay over the hospital ward as Skinner eased down the corridor past the main desk. No staff was in sight to question his presence this late; he could easily imagine there was no one here at all, no staff, no patients. No Mulder or Scully.

Not exactly his image of choice.

434.....436.....438. The door to room 438 stood half-closed. Hesitantly, he grasped the edge of the door and pushed inward just enough until he could peer around it into the gloomy interior.

Darkness masked the room, broken in patches by the strip of light from the hallway behind him and the lights shining in weakly from the parking lot through two windows. The beds sat against the left-hand wall, where two bodies lay sleeping amid unrelieved hospital white.

As quietly as possible, Skinner stepped in the room, pushing the door closed behind him to keep out the glaring hallway light. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and focused on the bed near the windows. A glint of unknown pale hair shimmered in the light.

Slowly, sensitive to each scrape of plastic runners against the metal track, Skinner pulled the curtain closed between the two beds. He exhaled the breath he'd been holding, then turned and walked around the other bed to a chair situated next to it. The plastic upholstery sighed faintly as he sat down, and for the first time, he took a good look at the man lying before him.

Skinner saw the faint movement of Mulder's head before he reached out a bandaged hand and groped to capture Skinner's arm.

"Hey." Barely a whisper, still rough and hoarse from his ordeal.

"Hey." His voice echoed Mulder's, barely a breath of sound.

Even in the dim light, he could still see the fiery discoloration around the bandages over Mulder's eyes where the caustic biological secretion had begun to burn away his skin.

"Couldn't sleep?" Mulder barely breathed.

Skinner smiled grimly. "Not too well."

"Me either. And I got a dose of the really good stuff."

Skinner slid his arm out from beneath Mulder's hand, replacing it instead with his palm, consciously making an effort not to exert any pressure against Mulder's abused skin. "Want me to get the nurse for more?"

Mulder gave a cautious shake of his head. "Nah. It'll just dope me up so much, I won't be lucid anymore. Is Scully out for the count?"

"Yeah, sleeping like a baby at the other end of the hall. How did you know it was me?"

Skinner could see a smile lift the edges of Mulder's mouth. "I'm psychic?"

"Try again," Skinner said dryly, but he smiled.

"I could smell you."

Skinner's nose wrinkled as he looked down at his clothes. "You can't. This isn't the same suit I wore today. That one's wrapped up in plastic, waiting for the cleaners. That damn mushroom crap could be on it."

Mulder couldn't help the chuckle that rolled out of him. "Not that kind of smell. It's just...you." Mulder laughed again, low and hoarse, but there was a tinge of embarrassment in it. "Your cologne, the soap you use, I don't know, all the above. The idea about other senses becoming heightened when one is taken away...guess it's true. So sue me."

Skinner squeezed Mulder's hand lightly. "Let's skip the legal complications." He wanted to put his hand in Mulder's hair, but some of the worst burning was on his scalp, so Skinner settled for laying a hand lightly on top of the sheet covering his leg.

"I just remembered, while I was hallucinating, I shot you. Whipped my gun out right in your office and shot you at your desk, three or four times right in the chest."

Skinner's hand tightened convulsively on Mulder's leg, and he had to consciously loosen it before asking lightly, "Letting all your secret fantasies play out under the mushroom's effects?"

Mulder flashed him a crooked grin. "We've got to do some serious talking about your opinion of my fantasies when I get out of here."

Skinner relaxed some more. "I bet I wouldn't sign off on your latest 302 flight of fancy, right?"

"I'd be shooting you all the time if that were the case," Mulder said, laughing, and his laughter turned to hoarse gasping. Blindly, he groped for the oxygen tube he'd pulled off earlier.

Skinner helped him get it positioned back over his face and in his nose. "Calm down, Fox, or I'll have to call a nurse if your breathing doesn't settle."

Mulder wheezed, managing to spit out, "Fuck," before working to get his breathing slowed and his panic dimmed.

They sat quietly for nearly ten minutes before Mulder squeezed the hand under his and whispered, "This sucks."

"Being dead or permanently incapacitated would've sucked worse. Keep it in perspective." Skinner's words were blunt but his hands never stopped touching Mulder on his arm and leg.

"Water?" Mulder asked pathetically.

Skinner chuckled. "Hold on." He angled the straw to Mulder's lips and held the cup while Mulder slowly and painfully swallowed. Before he could stand up, Mulder hooked an arm behind Skinner's neck and pulled him closer.

"Gonna be a while before I'll feel like deep-throating anything..." Mulder whispered.

"I don't know, Mulder, I'll have to seriously reconsider your use to me, in that case."

Mulder wheezed a ghostly laugh. "Asshole."

"So tell me about the hallucinations."

"Realized what was happening to us...thought we'd managed to get out," Mulder whispered in a raspy hiss. "But it was an illusion. Sitting in your office, Scully and me giving our report to you, and suddenly, I realized...there was nothing in your eyes. Nothing. No relief, no fear, no sense of any emotion other than impatience when I hesitated signing off on the report. I know you're good at doing impassive, but you can't tell me you'd sit there unaffected after this case. And I had no memory of how I'd gotten from North Carolina to Washington, nothing. So I pulled my gun and shot you to prove the point to Scully. That damned yellow slime oozed from the holes, then the vision dissolved. Literally. And I knew we were still underground, and that's when I really started trying to get out for real. Glad you weren't an illusion that time."

Skinner grimaced. "The flight down to Raleigh lasted an eternity. The odds were pretty dismal for finding you. Like looking for a needle in a haystack. I couldn't believe it when I saw your hand sticking up out of the ground."

They lapsed into silence as Mulder breathed painfully after overusing his abused throat tissues.

They must have slid into sleep while sitting there; the next thing Skinner knew, voices and footsteps out in the hall jerked him awake. Daylight poured in the windows, lighting up the room. Skinner's watch said it was 6:35, nearly time for shift change. As quietly and gently as he could, he slid his hand out from under Mulder's and stood up, but not gently enough.

Mulder's hand shot out again and grasped Skinner's jacket sleeve. "You leaving?" he whispered.

Skinner leaned down, conscious of a stranger on the other side of the curtain. "Yeah. I have to get back to DC this morning, now that you two are out of the woods."

Mulder nodded slowly. "Guess we're stuck here for a few more days."

"Yeah. And don't you dare check yourself out early, or I'll damn well check you right back into the hospital when you show your face back home."

Mulder grinned. "Yes, sir."

"Try to be a good patient, if it's at all possible. I'd like to see you back on your feet soon." With a quick glance to see if the curtain was pulled and the door was closed, Skinner leaned down and brushed his mouth in a barely-there kiss on Mulder's reddened skin. "Hear me?"

"Yeah," Mulder husked. "Thanks, Walter. I'll call." Mulder kept his bandaged and blind gaze turned toward the door as Skinner's footsteps receded out of the room and down the hall, getting swallowed up in the waking bustle of a busy hospital.

OoO

The next month went by with the speed of light and the force of a train rolling through Skinner's life. Between policy changes to put into effect, yearly reviews due and meetings scheduled ten thick every day, he also came home to find a visitor a three weeks later, lounging on his couch in black leather and holding the latest Palm Pilot. He knew then that his free time had been all used up.

OoO

Skinner heard the sound of a key in the lock sometime after the mantle clock struck eleven. He hadn't been home long. His suit coat lay flung over the back of the couch, and his white shirt still snugged across his shoulders, though his tie's knot hung low and loose around his neck.

It had been a major mistake to hand over that key to Mulder, a misstep of the kind he rarely made. He wouldn't have risen to his current position if he had. That kind of lax, impulsive gesture tended to not mix well with a drive to get ahead, so he'd allowed little of it over the years, if any at all.

Now there was no room at all in his life for any impulse, no room at all. Silent hands had grabbed him from both ends and begun squeezing, and now there was no room.

The front door closed, and a kind of cold and spare fatalism crept over Skinner, bringing a sense of great distance and detachment. He'd felt that way coming down off a three-day Saigon leave to go back up-country. Scared and lonely, he had done what circumstances demanded of him to survive. And, he had survived. Others had died, but he'd survived. Amazing how strong the impulse to live could be, running through a man. Amazing, or maybe simply it was a curse. It depended on your perspective.

"Any reason you're sitting here in the dark and not answering your phone?" Mulder switched on a lamp by the couch, and Skinner saw his gun had been drawn and ready before he tucked it back into his holster.

"I just got home, Mulder. I'm tired. When I work up enough energy, I'm going to walk up those stairs and go to bed."

Mulder came around the end of the couch and perched on the edge of the cushions, giving Skinner a penetrating, thoughtful stare. Usually, his Kreskin act didn't phase Skinner. Usually.

"I've been trying to reach to you all week."

Mulder let that float in silence, and Skinner simply grunted in reply.

"You've been too busy to call me back?"

"Too exhausted, Mulder. It's been a ball-grinding week." That was certainly true.

Mulder nodded. "I hope it's not because of anything Jesko told you."

"Who the hell is Jesko?"

"The New York ASAC in charge of the Hopkins case. Which Scully and I wrapped up today, by the way."

It took Skinner a moment to connect it together. "Hopkins...the missing maintenance men in the Hopkins building, the 302 I signed. You closed it?"

Mulder nodded, a small, pleased smile lurking. "Yes, although my techniques weren't to ASAC Jesko's liking. I told him maybe he needed to expand his horizons a bit, include the so-called unbelievable."

Skinner shook his head. "Low profile, Mulder. What happened to that low profile you promised?"

"When it's necessary, yeah. But this, hey, we closed it. Bagged our man. Jesko left himself swinging in the breeze because of his stance on our approach. Even SAC Carston thanked us as we were leaving today."

"That's good," Skinner murmured. "Mulder. Be careful all these fans you make on each new case don't come up and bite you in the butt some day in the future. When all is said and done, the Bureau's a small place to work."

Mulder lounged back and gave Skinner a bright-eyed look. "Speaking of biting my butt..." he grinned. "It's been a while. Since I came back from North Carolina, I've only been here a handful of times. What happened to life getting easier and more settled as we get older, Walter?" Mulder laughed and didn't seem to notice Skinner's tight expression. "Most people complain of life getting too routine and their sex life getting boring as they get older. Hell, I'd settle for a little routine, especially in my sex life." He grinned at Skinner and waited for a response not forthcoming. "That's a hint, in case you missed it."

Skinner realized he'd been hoping that Mulder would go away like an unwanted puppy dog if he growled loudly and scared him off. At this point, that was just not going to happen. Mulder wasn't a puppy dog; he may be affable and mild on the surface, but he was all teeth and jaw underneath, and like a bulldog, when he dug in, he didn't like to let go. Skinner needed to change his approach.

"No, Mulder, I got it, sorry." Skinner reached up and rubbed wearily at his head. "This damn headache wore me down today. I'm pretty useless right now."

Skinner watched Mulder's expression change right on schedule. "Have you eaten anything?"

Skinner smiled faintly. "Yes, Kim sent out for lunch and dinner for me. It's not low blood sugar, just eye strain and too damn many things happening."

"Taken anything for it?"

"Twice."

Mulder pushed up from the couch. "Okay, go on upstairs. Come on," he reached out for Skinner's arm, "go on up. Get undressed. I'll turn everything off down here and lock up."

Skinner let himself be pulled from the chair. "Mulder...I, I'd rather not have company tonight."

Mulder stopped in mid-turn and swung back to find Skinner eyeing him warily. "I know. That's why I'm going to turn everything off and lock up behind me as I leave." He quirked an ironic smile at Skinner. "Even I can catch a hint every now and then."

Mulder snapped off the light and walked to the front door.

Skinner paused with one foot on the stairway. "Mulder..." A thousand words ran through Skinner's mind, things he needed to say, things he should say, things he'd never get the chance to say. All that came out was, "...thanks."

Mulder opened the door and Skinner saw the smile on his face in the light from the hall. "De nada. Sleep well, mi amigo. Rise to shine another day. I've got lots of practice at waiting." With a flash of teeth, the door closed. He heard the scrape of the key and the dead bolt lock being thrown.

As he walked up the stairs, it struck Skinner that he didn't have a lock on his door that opened only from the inside. Even his dead bolt had outside keyed access. Anyone with skill could come in.

Rather like himself, he thought. Anyone with the skill could gain entry. Look how many people had unrestricted access to his life at the moment. And he didn't seem to be able to do a damn thing about any of it, good or ill.

That headache really hadn't been much of a lie, and he detoured to the medicine cabinet to down a couple Tylenol. He started to shut the door, then stopped and reconsidered. When he reached back in, he found a prescription bottle of Halcion and fished out two of the small pills inside.

If one worked, two would work even better. He didn't even want to dream tonight. He only wanted his head to hit that pillow and oblivion to follow soon after. He really didn't want the echo of Mulder's grinning "mi amigo" following him, haunting his dreams.

Or fueling his nightmares. Last night's grisly stabbing of Mulder had seemed all too real. Every time he'd rubbed his hands today, he expected to see red blood still dripping from them.

Guilt was a bitch that really played havoc in a man's life.

OoOoOoO

the 6th season's winding down...only the Biogenesis arc is left. Stay tuned for the last installment in PMS (hmm, I hope that nick isn't too apropos) as things explode and go berserk and we find out what people are really made of. Thanks for sticking around this long :-)

rac <>

 

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Post Meridiem Synthesis X:  
Cordis Incognitus  
by rac / January 31, 2001  
email: Feedback of all opinions is welcome.  
website: http://enook.net/hl/rac/rac.htm  
direct webpage: http://enook.net/hl/rac/pms.htm  
archiving: yes, if you have the rest of the series, too  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: Over the course of the entire series, there'll be bits and pieces from most of season six and into season seven. This piece takes place after the final episode of the Biogenesis trilogy, "Amor Fati". You´ll need to have seen the episodes for this to make sense.  
Notes: Thanks to devo, without her this one wouldn't have gotten finished; to Circe for her quick beta, and to cdavis, for her time, thank you, ladies. And to Annemarie, downunder--your email spurred me onto writing this last chapter. :-))

* * *

Cordis Incognitus

Fate, then, is a name for facts not yet passed under the fire of thought; for causes which are unpenetrated.  
         Ralph Waldo Emerson

Skinner turned the car onto Hegal Place, and right on cue, his gut began to roil. No namby-pamby butterfly crap; this was full-out, acid-churning nausea. The coffee he´d had in lieu of dinner wasn´t mixing happily with the bourbon shot he had flung back before leaving work. Dutch courage, a medicinal shot, something to help him get through the situation. It wasn´t working very well at the moment.

He slowed and pulled into an open spot at the curb, jammed the gearshift into park and laid his forehead against his hand on the steering wheel. When he opened the car door, he would either get up or throw up--and he had a decided preference for doing the former. He had been through enough degrading experiences recently--this was one he would like to skip.

Breathing evenly through his nose in an effort to bring his body to heel, Skinner sat back cautiously in his seat, grimly pleased by his success a minute later when the churning subsided to a mild rumble. He reached out and turned off the car.

He had avoided this long enough; no more avoidance. In the deepening twilight, his gaze searched across the street and easily found number 2630 Hegal Place, apartment 42.

Lights shone from each window with varying intensity. An overhead florescent streamed bright white light out of the bare kitchen window, while a dimmer, muted yellow glowed behind the blinds in the bedroom. A flickering, bluish light played over the walls of the living room through open blinds, and Skinner´s stomach gave one last spasm. Mulder´s ever-present television was on; there was no doubt he was home.

Twelve days. Twelve days since Scully had rescued Mulder from the government research facility. Twelve days of politics, headaches, leftover nanocyte aches�and underlying it all, an intense, painful relief that Mulder was found, that Mulder would be well.

That the crimes he had committed hadn´t contributed to Mulder´s death.

He got out of the car slowly, feeling every one of his forty-seven years and then some. He could wait, of course, and just let things unfold. Let their meeting take place at the office in three days, when Mulder was due back to work on Monday. Skinner held the advantage there by virtue of their relative positions, slim though that advantage may be with Mulder. Hell, at times it had been non-existent, Skinner thought, and smiled faintly as he walked up the front walk of Mulder´s building.

His smile faded as he opened the building´s main door. He´d blown it. Big time. As long as Mulder continued to respect his title, even if he couldn´t respect him personally, things would settle down. They had to work together, damn it. Greater things than personal consideration were at stake.

And, after all� he had nothing left to hide from Mulder. Not anymore. All his cards had been laid out on the table. There was no bluffing left. Folding wasn´t an option, either.

He stepped off the elevator and strode silently down the long hallway. He´d run out of options a while back. All that remained to be seen was how Mulder would play out his hand.

Skinner stopped in front of apartment 42, his hands in his coat pockets, and breathed in a deep breath before he rapped on the door. He heard something hit the floor, then footsteps, and the locks clicking back, then--

�Hey, you guys must have broken all the speed laws tonight--� Mulder´s words slammed to a halt as he opened the door.

Mulder stood holding his wallet open, his shorn hair mussed as if he´d just rolled out of bed. Soft, gray sweats hung low on his hips, and an old, well-washed black tee-shirt rode lean on his body, skimming the sweat´s waistband. He looked sleepy-eyed and flushed, and brimming with good health.

�Mulder. You look�great,� Skinner murmured. A feeling of unwanted euphoria blossomed in Skinner; he tamped it down ruthlessly until only a trickle of it escaped.

�Yeah, I keep on ticking,� Mulder said slowly, obviously surprised to see Skinner. �Come in,� he said, standing back to let Skinner through the door. �I thought you were dinner,� Mulder explained as shut the door.

Skinner halted in the foyer, looking back over his right shoulder. His gaze fell short of looking directly at Mulder, but it didn´t matter. Mulder´s mussed image was burned onto his brain. �If I´m interrupting, I´ll come back another time.�

�I´m just watching television, waiting for a pizza. Have a seat,� Mulder offered when Skinner continued to stand frozen like a statue in the middle of the living room.

Acute doubts surfaced all at once in Skinner. He should never have come here. Sleeping dogs should be allowed to lie--lie being a particularly applicable word. This was a major, stupid mistake.

Without asking, Mulder disappeared into the kitchen, where Skinner could hear him rummaging in the refrigerator. When he returned to the living room, there was a bottle in his hand. �Here,� he held it out to Skinner. �Have a cold one.�

Skinner couldn´t stop the fleeting expression of horror from briefly passing over his face at the thought of adding beer to the maelstrom in his stomach. He barely repressed a shudder. �No, thank you. I, uh�not right now.�

Mulder stood and watched Skinner for a moment, his gaze at once light and knowing. �Okay,� he said agreeably, setting the bottle down on the coffee table as he sprawled down on the sofa. With a flick of the remote, he turned off the television, and the sudden absence of the background chatter made the silence sound loud.

Skinner sat down on the chair opposite to avoid looming over the room and absorbing the brunt of Mulder´s bright, all-seeing gaze.

It didn´t work. Even though he sat in the chair and put the coffee table and his crossed arms between them, Mulder´s gaze still seemed to see everything. The determination he had gathered over the past week to deal with everything head-on now seemed to evaporate into thin air. The weighted silence dragged out.

�Walter, look at me.�

Mulder´s gentle tone of voice startled Skinner enough to look up.

�Listen, I know why you´re here. It´s okay, I understand. You were completely ham-strung,� Mulder stated with a complete lack of rancor. �You did what you could, while you could, and then you removed yourself from the board. It was a shitty position to be in. You know,� Mulder cocked his head to the side, �I´m not the only victim here, you ever thought of that?

Stunned, Skinner stared him. �Mulder, I�I served you up like a side of beef.�

Mulder gave bark of real laughter. �Hardly. You gave us the case to investigate--under a very real threat--and helped gather data on our actions during it. I know you also did everything you could to misdirect or divert that information. You were operating in the dark; you didn´t know what they had planned. Who could have known?�

Skinner exploded, �I had *every* idea that anything those bastards wanted to accomplish was nothing I wanted to be a part of, nothing you should be a part of!� He lurched up from the chair. �I knew I was serving you up to them. I knew it, even if I didn´t know for what purpose. And I didn´t have the balls to tell you, I just swallowed everything they handed me even as I choked on it.�

Mulder stood up and took a step toward Skinner. �And you´re still choking on it, aren´t you?� Mulder breathed in his face. �You´re choking on the guilt. It´s so thick in your throat you can barely breathe past it.�

Tension sang along Skinner´s rigid muscles. �I wanted to talk with you before you came back to work. I saw you at Agent Fowley´s funeral, but you left before I had a chance--�

Skinner´s gaze sharpened on Mulder as he made a half-turn away. Grief and pain creased his face.

Feeling even more helpless, Skinner lowered his voice to a husky rumble. �I´m very sorry, Mulder. I know she´d been your partner.�

�Oh yeah,� Mulder made a small sound, a cross between mirthless laughter and a hiccough, �she was my partner. And I trusted her. I turned to her when I didn´t turn to Scully, or to you.�

Skinner nodded. �And she saved you, in the end.�

�No, you don´t get it?� Mulder burst out as he rounded on Skinner. �The whole time, she was in league with the devil. All these years, all this time, she was working with Spender. Ever since Gibson Praise�she´d come back to confound me, to help undermine my work on the X-Files. To do the bidding of that old bastard. And I never had a clue. I didn´t believe Scully when she tried to tell me. I walked away from her, refusing to listen. I didn´t even give Scully the benefit of the doubt.�

�I--� That stymied Skinner; he was hardly the one to speak about betrayal.

Mulder turned away and felt the frustration boil up in him, the rage and pain. He kicked out at the chair, and it scraped a few unsatisfying inches over the floor. His gaze lit on the untouched beer bottle sweating on the coffee table. Before he knew it, he reached out and swung an arm, aiming to connect, wanting to feel the rage unleashed in his swing, feel his hand connect with the bottle, see the bottle go flying across the room to smash against the wall in a spray of brown glass and liquid.

Skinner leaned down and grabbed his arm, absorbing the shock of his swing with a grunt, stopping his hand inches before it hit the bottle.

�No. You want to hit something, hit me.�

Mulder shot him a tight look. �You´d like that, wouldn´t you? Help resolve some of that guilt you´re choking on.�

Choking, yes, he was choking on it. Skinner narrowed his eyes and pressed harder against Mulder´s resistance.

Wordlessly, Mulder twisted in Skinner´s grasp and struck out with both hands, shoving Skinner off-balance. His leather dress shoes found no purchase on the polished wood floor, and gracefully, he took the fall backward--but not without first automatically reaching out to take his attacker down, too. It was an instinctive move, one he almost simultaneously wished to erase, but instead, Skinner pulled Mulder closer, breaking Mulder´s fall with his own body.

Skinner landed back with a grunt, agonizingly aware of where Mulder´s head fell, thankfully on Skinner´s belly, padded by layers of clothing. His own body wasn´t so lucky; sharp pains screamed where his bones connected with the hard floor. He gasped a breath in, then rolled to sit up, his hands already searching over Mulder´s head.

�I said hit me, not shove me over, you idiot,� he muttered. �You could have hit your head, damn it.�

Mulder knocked Skinner´s hand away and pushed himself to a sitting position. �What´s one more bump on the road of life? I´ve survived everything else that´s been done to me so far.�

�Just because you´ve come through everything up 'til now doesn´t imply you´re invincible, Mulder. Damn it, man, get real,� Skinner barked, the reins of his temper flying out of his grasp.

The memories of Mulder dying, strapped down, drugged up and beyond anyone´s reach were too fresh in his mind. The overwhelming helplessness, the nanocytes, always skirting the edges of being caught--it all rushed through him suddenly, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught, shaking his head in fruitless denial.

�Mulder��

A warm hand clasped Skinner´s forearm. It surprised him, and he opened his eyes, keeping his gaze on Mulder´s hand to avoid his eyes. Mulder´s bare forearm rested on his leg, Mulder´s hand gripped him through his suit jacket. The weight and touch felt good. He wanted to absorb Mulder´s living heat right through his clothes and skin.

�I know,� Mulder said softly. �I saw everything. I *know*.�

Well, there it was, Skinner thought. Mulder really had seen it all, saw his spinelessness, his weakness, his impotence. His betrayal. There was only one thing left to find out.

He cleared his throat. �Are you going to be able to trust me enough to maintain a working relationship between us? To work with me as your supervisor?�

A long silence followed his question, and Skinner couldn´t resist glancing up.

Mulder was looking at him with an expression he couldn´t read. �Tell me why I wouldn´t be able to.�

His unspoken, passive confession wasn´t enough; Mulder demanded a public recitation of his sins.

Skinner swallowed. �I betrayed you. I spied on you, making the information I gathered available to those who would do you harm. I was compelled to do this, and I can still be compelled to do the same thing and worse in the future. I�� he hesitated, looking away then back as his resolve wavered, �I not only lied to you as your supervisor, I lied to you as a friend, as a�lover.� The ultimate betrayal.

Mulder nodded, his face completely blank. �You got involved with me to spy on me?� he asked.

Skinner´s horror flared. �No! No, I��

Mulder nodded again. �You gained satisfaction through your involvement with the Consortium´s plans?�

Skinner shook his head jerkily. �No.�

�You willingly complied when the outcome appeared to be directly harmful to me or Scully.�

�No! I, I��

�Okay.� Mulder pushed himself up from the floor and stood brushing his hands, looking down at Skinner. �One more question. Do you think my life has any value, Walter?�

The question felt like a punch in the gut. Skinner scrambled to his feet. �My God, Mulder, of course it does.�

Mulder only raised his eyebrows. �Why?�

Jesus. �Because it does. Because you´re unique, because you walk down paths the rest of us don´t even see. Because there´s no one else to do what you do, and you´re needed to do it. And�because without you around, a lot of people would have a hole in their lives that no one else could fill, damn it.�

Mulder nodded, smiling faintly as his gaze locked onto Skinner´s. �Now tell me why you think we would have a problem?�

Skinner wasn´t sure what to say. Hadn´t he said it all before?

Mulder gave him a crooked smile and laid his hand on his shoulder, squeezing a bit, then he walked out of the room. Skinner heard the water run in the kitchen and cabinet doors open and close, then a long stretch of silence.

The soft whir and gentle plop-plop of bubbles drew Skinner´s gaze to the fish tank sitting in the corner. He walked over and stood mesmerized, watching the tank light shimmer wildly as rising air disturbed the water. A small school of black neon tetras darted back and forth, glowing like their name implied. Two larger pink fish, rather nondescript in appearance, hovered near waving plant fronds.

Mulder´s sock-covered feet made almost no noise as he walked up behind Skinner. �I just bought them all last week. The, the others didn´t survive.�

No, of course not, Skinner thought. Mulder had been gone, Scully had been gone. He certainly hadn´t given a thought to Mulder´s fish.

�D´you know what they are?� Mulder pointed to the pale pink fish.

Skinner shook his head, bemused at Mulder´s capricious mood. Fish stories in the middle of a serious discussion.

A grin quirked up Mulder´s mouth. �Kissing gouramis.� There was movement in the tank. �Watch them.�

Skinner watched. The two fish swam in a circular motion, then approached each other and locked their open mouths together. It really looked as if they were kissing. They backed off, then approached and did it again.

�Looks like they´re kissing, doesn´t it? Given our species´ mating habits, it´s natural to interpret their action as sexual.� Mulder gazed sideways at Skinner. �These two are both males. Of course, our species has sexual behavior occurring in male pairs, too. Male-male sexual activity has been observed across the entire animal kingdom.�

Skinner felt mesmerized now by Mulder, by the reflected shimmer in his eyes.

�It´s actually very common. Wouldn´t you agree?�

Skinner gave a brief nod, fighting a sudden urge to turn around and leave just as unexpectedly as he had arrived.

�The thing is,� Mulder continued, pointing to the gouramis, �that isn´t a primary sexual behavior. Or at least as far as the ichthyologists know.�

�I´m sure there´s a point in here somewhere,� Skinner muttered impatiently, half-afraid, for some reason, for Mulder to get to it.

Mulder turned his wide hazel gaze on Skinner. �A point? Yeah, there´s a point. Those two males are engaging in a show of strength, ready to defend their chosen territory. That´s another behavior that´s common to most species in the animal and human kingdoms, whether the territory involves an actual place or things of a more subtle and insubstantial nature. It´s part of a courtship ritual, defending your territory. It´s what us males are programmed to do.�

�Yeah,� Skinner ground out through a clenched jaw. �And I seriously failed at it, Mulder.�

�Yeah? Well, then, join the club, because I failed, too, a hundred times over the years. Seriously failed. I failed Scully, I failed you, I failed my sister.�

�You were twelve years old, Mulder, you can´t hold yourself accountable for that.�

�Yeah, and you had a loaded gun cocked at your head. The slightest wrong move, and bam. Scully told me Krycek activated the nanocytes right in your office, right under everyone´s nose, because you wouldn´t reveal what she had said to you. You felt the pain for days afterward.�

Skinner shook his head. �Mulder��

Mulder got right into his face. �Listen to me, damn it. Despite my failures, Scully still loves me. It *is* possible for us to move past our hurts. I don´t remember everything from the period before the operation, but Walter�I do remember you. I remember seeing the real you�not just the failures, but the strength and the love, too. Don´t sell yourself short, damn it. I need you at work, I need you in my life. I, I´m running out of people who forgive *me*, Walter. I´m sure as hell not going to write you off because *you´re* human, too.�

Mulder´s eyes blazed at him, as if he could imprint the truth of his words in Skinner just by the force of his will. And maybe he could, because Skinner realized that he knew Mulder´s words *were* truthful. As much as they´d clashed heads over the years, instead of Mulder becoming less important, he´d become more so to Skinner. He could no more condemn Mulder for his failures than he could fly to the moon. He´d never stopped to think that it was possible Mulder might feel the same way about him.

The euphoria that had risen when Mulder had opened the door, looking so vibrant and healthy and alive, arose again in Skinner. This time, he didn´t tamp it down into non-existence, but let it move his hands up to cup Mulder´s head, let it impel him forward until his mouth touched Mulder´s. He felt dizzy, with the warm satin of Mulder´s mouth open to his and the feel of his very alive heartbeat under his hands. The relief Skinner felt was so strong, he tore his mouth away to bury his face in Mulder´s hair. Mulder´s smell and heat surrounded him and sank into his skin, grounding him.

He´d come here tonight prepared for everything but forgiveness, and that was the one thing that Mulder offered him. And it was good, and it was right, and he was going to hold onto it with both hands, and to hell with those bastards and their threats. Somehow, they would work things out.

�I´m sorry,� he rasped in Mulder´s ear. �I´m sorry. I wish--�

�Don´t,� Mulder interrupted, a distant look in his eyes. �Don´t look back, don´t regret. For a time, Walter, I�I saw life from a god´s eye view, a place most people never touch. It´s�it´s awesome, and amazing, and I realized that so much of what we struggle over isn´t really important at all.� Mulder´s hands burrowed up under Skinner´s suit coat and splayed across his back. �And so much of what is important, we avoid and run away from in fear.�

Skinner nodded, knowing the truth of that in his bones.

Mulder smiled suddenly. �I´ve been home for nearly two weeks, with very little to do except clean the apartment. You know what?�

Skinner blinked at his rapid change of subject. �What?�

Leaning in, Mulder whispered in Skinner´s ear, �I´ve got a clean bed, with clean sheets, and no dirty clothes thrown all over it. Wanna go rumple it up?�

Skinner stared, speechless, then he laughed out loud. The simple humor fell light and bright into their midst, feeling refreshingly good.

�I take it that´s a yes?�

Without warning, Skinner kissed him hard, hard enough to feel the imprint from his teeth against his inside upper lip. �Yeah, that´s a yes.�

The doorbell rang.

Skinner laughed out loud again, this time at Mulder´s annoyed expression. �After the pizza.�

Skinner laughed again and peeled out of his suit coat while Mulder paid the delivery boy. They´d eat their dinner and take their time, because grace had laid a path for them stretching out into the distance. Grace had helped him see the beauty of the human heart, and it was a sweet discovery, a discovery meant to be savored.

He laughed again, this time for the sheer joy of it.

\--fini--

Notes:  
Amor Fati: Love of Fate  
Cordis Incognitus: The Unknown/Unexamined/Unrecognized/Unclaimed Heart. Take your pick, they all work

Thanks, everyone, who stuck around until the very end! I hope the ride with this series was as fun for you as it was for me. :-))  
Let me know how you feel! Feedback desired: 


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